Boundaries
by Cutie Pie 9335
Summary: Cartman finally crosses the line that Kyle had so carefully drawn. Kyman, amongst other pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Alright, so I'm starting a new story about South Park this time. The summary pretty much says it all. So, I'm probably going to be changing POV's to make the story a little more indepth, because this doesn't just center around Kyle and Cartman, but there's many other stories going on within and under the surface, so please be patient as I lay the foundation of this story. Please enjoy and review.**

**Chapter 1: Crossing the Line**

My name is Kyle Broflovski and I hate Eric Cartman.

It's funny how one person can define you so much but in such a negative way. He's been everything that I'm against and there are days when I wonder if he only has certain opinions because I hold the opposite of them. Cartman has tormented me over the years and it always started with "…goddamn Jew!" to which I'd always respond with, "Bring it on fatass!". It was ritual, because if I didn't call him a fatass and he didn't call me a Jew, then things just didn't seem to make sense.

But that was before he crossed the line.

Sure, Cartman has done pretty fucked up shit in his elementary days and that even seemed to carry over into junior high and later when we all reached South Park High, but he'd never gone this far, never fucked so much shit up before. You'd think that somehow someone would mature at sixteen, but as I stormed down the empty halls of school, I felt suddenly like I was nine again.

My thick snow boots collided heavily with the swinging doors of the cafeteria, effectively silencing everyone. Eyes turned upon me in fear, in confusion, but as I glimpsed Kenny's reaction, he seemed delighted. Cartman had frozen mid-stride with his tray of lunch clenched in his hands. Did I say he hadn't matured? He was taller than me, only be a few inches because over the years, I'd strangely grown to be taller as well, but he was wider, more muscular than I could ever hope to be; Cartman had grown into his baby fat leaving behind muscle in its place, but that didn't scare me – I was angry, frustrated, and out for blood.

I crossed the space between us in a few quick leaps and I felt my face darken as I drew closer. Cartman's brown eyes looked caught in the middle of dread and bewilderment as I drew closer, obviously having no intent to stop.

With the momentum I had, I made a quick lunge, striking out my fist and feeling a rush of satisfaction as I smashed it against the side of his face. The taller teen went sprawling across the floor, his tray clattering beside his fallen form.

Pause.

So I punched the fat Nazi prick in the face, but he deserved it. However, I guess it would look just like an act of violence from the average dorky kid at school to any passing student or teacher, but it ran much deeper than that.

It all started a week ago.

"No, Kenny, that's why they call it photosynthesis," I chuckled, walking home from school between my two best friends, right where I always was. None of our family's could afford a car, and frankly, very few kids our age had one anyway, so we were happy with walking back and forth, seeing as our high school had decided that they didn't want buses anymore.

Kenny just nudged my sides, as well beginning to laugh, "Well, excuse me, Professor Broflovski."

Ever since Junior high school, Kenny had decided to ditch wearing his hood up all the time, finally showing everyone the handsome blonde he truly was, however the orange parka stayed, as it probably always would. However this earned him quite the attention from girls, some almost seeming just to use him like a whore, but Kenny insisted that he liked it, even preferred it because it never meant getting involved, to which he'd always poke fun at Stan and Wendy, who after all this time, still seemed to love my super best friend more than ever.

"So, guys," Stan suddenly interrupted, lacing his fingers behind his head in a leisurely manner, "I was thinking we ought to have a little get-together tonight seeing as my parents are taking a small vacation out of town, leaving the liquor cabinet unguarded."

Kenny pretended to swoon, placing his gloved hand over his heart and he cried, "Oh Alcohol, my one true love! She's always the one I just can't get enough of, only it's too bad that I'm having an affair with her cousin, Weed." The blonde waggled his eye brows suggestively as the two of us, forcing me back into a fit of laughter.

"Heh, yeah well I was thinking of inviting Cartman too," he replied almost nervously, casting a look in my direction. At this point, I was trying to be an adult about Cartman, letting it seem like I didn't really care about him either way, but god he pissed me off so much.

However, my body seemed to have a mind of its own as I shrugged my shoulders, plastering on my indifferent face as I released a sound from my lips that sounded like a "meh" meaning that I didn't really mind. Stan nodded and smiled his big goofy smile and started blabbering on and on about how he kind of felt bad for the fatass because we used to be his friends and that we almost never see him. Truth was, as Stan put it, Cartman probably would turn us down and say something about he didn't want to hang out with "a Jew, a hippie, and a poor sack of shit" so imagine my surprise when Cartman said that he'd be right over.

Initially, he and I started out bickering like old times, him openly trying to offend me, and me trying to brush it off like it was nothing, but one his idiotic and ignorant statements always pulled me back in. When the whiskey was introduced, however, it seemed to put our fighting to rest, and Kenny praised 'her' yet again, calling her the 'sultan of getting along togetherness'.

Kenny passed me the open bottle, to which I gladly took a hearty swig. I was not a big drinker, and honestly I was a bit of a light weight when it came down to it, but we had just completed mid terms and I was dying for a release, even if it may have been an illegal one. The golden drink cascaded down the back of my throat like liquid fire, leaving behind scorches all the way down. Forcing myself to hold in my cough, I handed the whiskey by it's neck to Cartman, who as well took a large drink.

Once the whiskey bottle was empty, we sat in silence for a minute, all oddly somber even in our buzzed state. I glanced over at Cartman and frowned, wondering when he'd gotten not only so tall but so fit, especially when it seemed like just yesterday I was nine and calling him a total fatass.

"Alright, well you guys hold tight," Stan said, getting to his feet without so much as a wobble, "I'll bust out the rum."

And bust out he did. With a pop, the raven haired teen was passing around the burgundy drink which seemed to suddenly do the trick; I began giggling like a school girl on my second sip, Cartman as well dissolving into laughter while Kenny tried and failed continuously to make a coherent sentence and Stan trying see his own lips as he repeated the word 'rum' over and over again.

"Guys…so, fuck…," Ken began but seeming to lose his train of thought. I snorted wildly, clutching my sides as I tried to regain control, but everything just suddenly was so damn funny. "We…like, should play uh…what's it called? Oh, yeah, Truth or like…fucking Dare or some shit."

We were getting wasted, and the rum was already half gone.

"Rum, ruuuuuummmmmm," Stan trailed out goofily, his hazel eyes going slightly crossed as he tried in vain the catch a glimpse of his own mouth.

"Kenny," Cartman began, interrupting himself with a hiccup, "your poor ass mind had the greatest idea. I dare you to take another drink."

I giggled, Stan said rum, and Kenny drained practically the whole bottle without batting an eye. Cartman chuckled, falling onto his back for a second before rolling over next to me and began to say something to me, but I was lost in my own fits of delirious drunken joy. It was like being on a cloud where everything was a hilarious and your head seemed weightless.

"Psst!" Kenny smirked at me, "I dare you to kiss Stan."

On any other day, any other time, or maybe if I wasn't totally drunk off my ass, I would've plain said no but I felt like someone else was driving my body as I glanced over at my super best friend who'd obviously heard the dare and was grinning widely back at me. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, now that I look back on it – me scooting closer and Stan puckering up mockingly kind of like a girl would in a cheesy romance movie and yet it never once crossed my mind of what kind of trouble this would bring, this one little kiss.

I locked lips with him hotly, my fingers diving through his soft ebony locks roughly as I grazed my teeth on his lower lip. His hands gripped the collar of my shirt, balling it up tightly as he responded to my touch. Somewhere in the back of my foggy mind, I could hear Cartman informing Kenny that he was correct and that we were both fags, but I was too caught up in what I was doing with Stan to notice.

When I broke for air, the room seemed to be spinning and Stan had this look on his face that seemed all too familiar though I couldn't place it. Kenny saying something but it seemed farther away, as if I had cotton wads stuffed in my ears. And then Stan was on his feet as he drunkenly fled out his backdoor where the distinctive sound of vomiting was heard. Kenny said something else about going to go hold Stan's hair back but it barely reached me as blackness closed in on all sides of my vision. As I fainted, the last thing I saw before unconsciousness took over was Cartman's malevolent grin.

It goes without saying that the next morning hang over was enough to slay a beast, so crippling that I was actually sure that Cartman wasn't being sarcastic when he'd said that while I slept he'd taken a hammer to my temples (that also being a poor excuse for a Jew pun).

When I awoke, I'd had that moment of bliss where I didn't remember making out with my super best friend, but then one look at Stan's stricken face and I knew that I'd done something wrong. Early that morning, as Kenny was nursing his hangover with a bottle of wine and Cartman still sleeping, the both of us decided simply that we were drunk, it meant nothing and should never be mentioned again. It was that simple.

However, as soon as I actually believed that we could just brush this off as nothing, the universe – namely Cartman – showed me otherwise.

It began on a Tuesday.

I walked into school in my usual stupor as I'd stayed up late yet again studying as my mother had commanded. Eyelids falling shut and feet dragging uselessly, it was a wonder I'd even noticed it; pictures were posted everywhere, one on virtually every locker, and a horrible feeling of regret and guilt pooled in my stomach as I reached my locker, where one of flyers had been placed but in big sharpie it read across the front "From me, To you".

It was a photograph of Stan and I. Kissing. The worst part was that it neither looked forced nor tampered with and I realized with a sinking feeling what this would do, to not only me, but to Stan. I could live with being tormented by the whole school for being gay or totally horny for my friend, whatever, but Stan? He had Wendy, he was the popular quarterback who already was in question because he openly hung out with Kenny and I. Stan had something to lose.

As the day progressed, it only seemed to get worse. Kenny tried to console me in the dickish way of his but it didn't help. Craig made a few jokes any time he saw me and Butters openly told me that gosh he was sorry but he couldn't be friend no more. I was at the end of my leash by the time the end of the day rolled around and I still hadn't even glimpsed Cartman's fatass.

By Wednesday, my boiling rage had diminished substantially. I saw Cartman and pretty much cussed him out repeatedly throughout the day as opposed to killing him as I'd originally planned. I was surprised at first by how resolute Stan was, sticking by my side even when people called us fags and homos and butt pirates and fanny bandits.

And then came Thursday. I didn't see Stan when I came into school, and he wasn't in my first period class. I didn't know how exactly, but I could feel it before it even happened – shit was about to hit the fan. So I walked home, carrying that feeling with me the whole way.

At about four in the afternoon, someone rang the door bell. I prayed and hoped that somehow everything was still fine, but God has a strange different sense of humor which only seemed more obvious as I opened my front door to reveal an upset Stan Marsh, who had tear tracks across his face and his eyes were red and puffy like he'd been crying for sometime. Wordlessly, I brought him up to my room, crossing my fingers that somehow this wasn't what I already thought it would be. We sat on my bed side-by-side, and in a broken voice Stan told me what happened.

"…and then Wendy said that it was over, and this time she wasn't forgiving me. She thinks I cheated on her with you, dude!" he cried in dismay, breaths ragged as if he were about to launch into another sobbing spree. I gingerly slung my arm across his broad shoulders, bringing his head to rest on me, which he did without protest.

I wanted to comfort him, but I was so mad that I couldn't even speak.

So essentially, that's how I found myself straddling the fatass and repeatedly beating the absolute shit out of him in the cafeteria.

Play.

"Kyle! Mr. Broflovski!"

I could hear the teachers screaming at me to stop but I couldn't. Cartman had finally done it – he'd snapped that very thin amount of patience I had for him.

"You crossed the fucking line, you fat sack of shit! Goddamn it!" I screamed right in his face, which only had this angry smirk on it, even with a busted lip and a nasty bruise forming on his left cheek he still looked triumphant.

Suddenly, I felt arms around my mid section as I was hoisted off of the Nazi bastard, and for a brief moment I thought that one of the teachers had finally gotten the balls to try and stop me from murdering Cartman. When I glanced down at those arms, I felt relieved to see the waterproof and familiar material of an orange parka.

Kenny McCormick lifted me up off of Cartman without even glancing at me, still holding me tightly as he escorted me out of the cafeteria. I couldn't even struggle against him but just allowed him to lead me away. We walked outside of the school gates and I realized that we were headed back to my house, basically just skipping the rest of the day, which I was totally fine with.

When we reached my front porch, Kenny paused for a minute, his hold on me tightening as he pulled me into a strange hug from behind, pressing his chin into the space between my shoulder blades. I shivered as I felt the heat from his deep sigh reach through my own jacket and tickle my spine.

"I know you're mad, Kyle," he whispered softly. "But please, don't get yourself kicked out of school just because of man tits, okay?"

I sighed and pulled away from Kenny as I opened to door to my house. The last thing I needed was advice from him of all people, the guy who will up and disappear in the blink of an eye because he "died" or so Stan and I called it and just come back like nothing had ever happened. I slammed the door shut behind me.

My weekend passes like any other normally would with me being cooped up in my room studying or stuck cleaning the house. Thankfully, my family seemed to understand my unhappiness and simply left me to myself so I could have time to think, but little good it did me once Monday came again.

I slumped against my locker that morning, lazily putting in my combination before it screeched open on rusted hinges. Sighing, I stared blankly at my text books, feeling suddenly drained. Last week seemed to happen so fast, like a car wreck, and now I was having to assess the damage.

"Ahem."

I glanced over to see my super best friend watching me with an ominous expression on his face. His hazel eyes seemed troubled but what stood out to me even more was the dead look behind it all. _Aw fuck._

"W-what's up, dude?" I asked shakily, casting a look about the halls instead of having to face his blank gaze.

"We need to talk. Meet me in the parking lot after school, okay?"

Stan didn't even wait for my reply as he turned on his heel and walked away, fists clenched tightly. I released a breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding.

Over head, the sky was gathering in dark storm clouds.

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**Author's afterthought: Alright, so please tell me what you thought. Was it moving too fast? Any OOC's? Thanks for reading :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Okay, so right now the first two chapters have been in Kyle's POV but trust me, I plan to mix it up a little and give you readers a little deeper perspective. Also, I'm sorry for the delay and I actuall feel pretty bad because I had this chapter ready like 5 days ago but I held off since I was going out of town for quite a few days. However, it's up now and I should have the next chapter out really quick. So, please read, review and enjoy.**

The Dog and His Bone(r)

"Dude, I'm sorry but we can't be friends anymore," left Stan Marsh's mouth, which belonged to my super best friend.

I was having a surreal moment: it was like being told that someone was dead – at first you think they're kidding and just playing the cruelest prank on you, but when Ashton Kutcher doesn't jump out and scream "Punked!" you realize just how serious they actually are. My stomach dropped a little deeper, leaving behind an empty feeling. Honestly, I didn't know what I was supposed to say, so Stan continued to talk.

"Look, Kyle, it's just that Wendy means so much to me and everyone's been ripping on both of us, so I think it'd be best if we just keep our distance for now. Please don't cry," he begged me softly and I imagine I looked probably quite miserable. He reached out a gloved hand to rest on my shoulder and somewhere, deep within, that action from him stirred something in me.

"Just go, dude," I snarled darkly, practically tearing his hand off of me as I took a few steps back. I just suddenly needed distance like Stan had said, but mine was for entirely different reasons.

Over the years, I'd begun to notice how bad my temper had gotten, and while most of the time I was calm (except when I was around Cartman), I found that I had the capacity to just fall into overdrive and ream some innocent person. But in this case it was Stan, Stan who was telling me that he was choosing Wendy over me. Yeah, I definitely needed to get away from him before I ended up beating the shit out of him like I did to Cartman.

I turned my back to him and began to walk away, so furious and hurt that my limbs were shaking violently. Slowly, I could hear Stan walking away behind me, probably off to football practice or going to go grovel at Wendy's feet while he begged for her forgiveness. Suddenly, I hated her too.

Rain steadily began to fall from the overcast gray and stormy sky, coming down lightly at first and slowly getting heavier. It didn't rain much in South Park, seeing as it was usually snowing, but how perfect was the mood? I'd just cut ties with my best friend in the whole wide world and then it began to rain. Did I mention that God seems to enjoy irony and farce?

"Break up with your faggy little boyfriend, Jew?"

_Goddamn it._

Cartman was leaning against his pick up truck, starting to get soaked like me but hardly seeming to care. He must have seen all that just happened, which for some reason made me feel queasy. I wrapped my arms tighter around my mid section as the boiling rage I'd just held burned itself out into just bitter sadness that seemed to echo in my chest with every heartbeat. The first of many sobs decided to surface now of all times and when the broken noise I made reached Cartman, his face contorted in a look that I didn't recognize.

"Fuck" – sob – "off Cartman."

The rain only seemed to get heavier but it hardly disguised the fact that I was now full blown crying like some girl, hugging myself like some fucking pansy as I tried to literally hold myself together. Why on earth did it have to be Cartman to catch me like this? I could deal with that asshole Craig, even Clyde, and probably Token too, but Eric Cartman, my worst enemy on the face of the planet? Having him see me cry only made me want to cry even more.

The fatass sighed, casting his brown eyes to water pooling at his feet as it rippled from contact with the rain drops. He looked troubled for a moment before seeming to gain some sort of resolution.

"Get in the car, Jew-boy," he said just barely over the pattering storm.

Genuinely, I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, call him a fat Nazi bastard and just storm away, but something rooted me to the spot. Maybe it was the lack of venom in his eyes as he looked at me, or maybe it was the fact that I wouldn't mind if he tried to kill me this time, but I found myself sauntering over to the passenger's side door, mirroring Cartman's surprised expression at my lack of resistance.

For a moment, we both sat in the car, dripping wet and listening to droplets pop and explode into little shimmers against his wind shield. The car smelt of rain and Cartman, which in and of itself was a hard smell to describe. Like cinnamon gum and soap.

The roar of the engine broke me from my train of thought as we pulled out of the high school parking lot. Somewhere, in the very back confines of my mind, I knew this was a bad idea, and yet, I ignored it. Truthfully Cartman was probably going to try and exact revenge for what I did to him last week once he gets his chance.

I glanced at Cartman, transfixed by the bruise on his cheek that I'd delivered to him only recently. He could have easily put up a fight against me but chose not to, which for the life of me I couldn't figure out. We were pretty evenly matched when it came down to it physically. I mean, yeah he's like an inch or two taller and out weighed me, but when it came to punching someone's lights out, we stood on equal footing in my mind.

"What?" he asked uncomfortably, shifting in his seat as he pulled up to park in his drive way. I blinked owlishly back, at a loss as how to explain my consistent staring, so I simply shrugged and hopped out of the vehicle. Cartman walked up to his front door and I wordlessly splashed after him, dancing around puddles on one foot until I caught him watching me from the open door frame. We exchanged an odd look but broke contact as I came inside, closing the door behind me.

Without another word, Cartman shed his drenched jacket, revealing a relatively dry black t-shirt underneath, and dropped his abandoned article of clothing upon his old couch. My jacket, however, did little good to protect me so I tossed it beside Cartman's, frowning to myself as I realized that my white shirt underneath was also just as waterlogged. I peeled the wet clinging fabric from my skin, laying it adjacent to my coat as I tried to warm my cold damp skin beneath.

"So, you and Stan had a hissy fit again," Cartman tossed over his shoulder as he stalked into the kitchen, which I promptly followed. Leaning against the wall, I watched Cartman stare aimlessly at the food in his fridge.

"Caused by you," I finished casually, trying hard to keep the resentment out of my voice as I crossed my arms over my exposed chest impassively.

"Yeah, like it's my fault Stan couldn't take a joke and was a dick to you about it," Cartman snorted, his back still to me.

He had me there, I had to admit.

"You don't know anything about me and Stan," I mumbled half to myself.

It was like stepping on a land mine the way Cartman whirled, slamming the fridge shut so hard that it quaked, and I was actually surprised that the door didn't just fall off.

"Oh, I don't, do I? So you mean I wouldn't know anything about how he treats you like his bitch 24/7, like you're somehow a burden to him?" Cartman sneered. "Or what about the way he looks around the halls to see if anyone's watching when he talks to you?"

"Stop it, Cartman," I hissed venomously back, but he seemed deaf to it as he pushed past me, still in a rant.

"Or do you think that it's not painfully obvious to me that he's picking that fucking cunt Wendy over you?"

"I said to fucking stop!" I screamed so loud that my throat felt as though it'd torn and my insides were shaking from the amount of volume I'd poured into that one sentence.

_Whack!_

My head snapped to the side as Cartman's fist collided solidly with the corner of my mouth, leaving behind a trickle of blood where it had busted and a throbbing ache that would no doubt develop into a nasty blue black bruise not unlike the one I'd given the fatass. And then as adrenaline burned throughout me, I realized Cartman had relit the flame of hate within. I hated Stan, I hated Wendy, I hated Kenny, I hated alcohol, I hated myself, and I hated Eric fucking Cartman.

With a strangled cry, I launched myself at him, landing punches and taking a few too. He tossed me into a wall and moved to hit me but I dodged however not fast enough as he kneed me in the guts. Snatching my shoulder, Cartman then tossed me onto the staircase, knocking the wind out of me.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow as I glanced past Cartman's shoulder to see a mirror in his entry way that reflected the scene of our fight back at me. I looked like hell, with a few red welts from his fists spanning my chest and my green hat askew, allowing a few of my fiery locks to fall astray. But then the Nazi seemed to understand what I was looking at, and the trance was broken.

He snatched me up by my throat, roughly dragging me over the mirror. Cartman's grip on me tightened as he pulled me out in front of him and then back into his chest, that arm that was still holding onto me thread under my own limb. All that could be heard was the sound of both our ragged breaths.

I stared back into the reflection of my emerald eyes but made the mistake to glance at Cartman who was craned down slightly with his chin resting on my bare shoulder. His brown eyes scanned my flesh, pausing to rest on my face, more specifically the side of my lip that he'd busted open that was now turning a nasty hue of purple.

Slowly, I felt his other hand rest on my pale hip, my skin tingling whenever his fingers so much as twitched. He ran his calloused palm across the thin line of hair that traveled down from my belly button and slowly began to move upward, fingers gliding across the contours of my abdomen until he reached the place where my heart was supposed to be.

I swallowed the spit in my mouth nervously, shuddering as my Adam's apple raked against Cartman's hand.

With a steady movement, the taller teen drew his finger nail in an X formation, leaving behind the small red mark on my torso. His breath tickled the back of my neck as he exhaled shakily.

"Too bad, Kyle," he hissed, pressing his forehead briefly to the back of my hat before returning his mouth right back to my ear again. "Stan's missing out on so much."

Renewed anger fueled me as I broke his hold on my neck, thrashing roughly in his arms. Once I was free, using all the strength I had, I tackled him to carpet floor painfully, straddling him as not to permit his escape. It was reminiscent of Friday, me sitting on top and him beneath me, except we were under different circumstances.

I pinned his arms down at his elbow joints, gripping tightly and pressing my chest down as to stop him from throwing me off. His arms tilted upward and he clutched my own forearms with enough force I thought that my bones would break in his thick hands.

I was mad, so much so that my shoulders were literally shaking as I growled low and dangerously, "I'm going to break everything, starting with you, fatass."

Something gritted against my inner thigh against my pants.

And then Cartman's eyes traveled downwards, as mine did follow.

A large and quite prominent bulge was making its presence known in my jeans, but what was worse? That my little problem was as well straddling a bulge that was also quite proportional to its owner beneath me.

Had it been just Cartman who'd gotten a boner, he probably would have made up some stupid excuse and I would have dismissed it, as the same would go for me except maybe a few more gay jokes thrown in the mix, but seeing as it was both of us, this made things a whole shit load more awkward.

The passionate rage we'd been in died down instantly, leaving us still panting and fully aroused. It only took one second for me to assess the situation and reason out what was in need of being done.

I fled.

I pushed myself off of Cartman and sprinted for the door, not once looking back because I was too afraid that I would be confronted by those smirking, questioning eyes. Flinging the door open, I hurled myself out into the now sprinkling rain. Hopefully no one would see me running out of Cartman's house half naked and pitching a tent because it would be hard to explain that, yet as I continued to run, I realized people had probably witnessed stranger things between the two of us.

There was a loud slam as I entered my own house, coughing for breath and dripping wet.

"Dude, are you…?"

My adopted brother Ike trailed off when his gaze fell upon my stricken face. I could just imagine what I must have looked like, eyes wide and in an emotionless shock with bruises and scraps all over me accompanied by a raging boner. Yes, dear brother, Kyle's having a very bad day, and he seemed silently to notice this as the blush crept up on his cheeks and he turned on his heel and walked away.

For a moment I just stood there, hands on my knees as I wheezed pathetically, relieved to feel that the beast inside my pants decided to go back to resting for awhile. I made a mental promise that I'd deal with it tonight when I shower, but for now, I begged that it would just go back to normal.

"Here."

A blanket was suddenly flung around my shoulders and a mug of something hot was being forced into my hands as I met the dark eyes of my younger brother once again as they searched mine for something, _anything_. A weary smile was plastered on my face as I thumped one hand heavily down upon the small tuft of spikes on his head, rubbing it fondly. His hand reached up, tugging mine off of his head as he turned and began to lead me away and up the stairs.

With a creak, he'd opened the door to my room, wide enough to permit me to squeeze in past him, hunched over slightly with the blanket still clinging to my back. As I sat down on my bed, I began to thank him, but Ike just held up one small hand to shut me up.

"Look, you probably had a rough day, and judging from the way it looks like you're about to bust into tears, I'm not gonna ask about it, and I'm not gonna bother telling Mom or Dad." Ike sighed, his thin shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he took a seat beside me. "Get some sleep or just rest for a little while and I'll wake you up before six, okay?"

I smiled to myself, pulling my brother into a side hug with one arm, holding him tightly against me for a moment as I remembered suddenly why I loved him like a real brother anyway.

"Thanks, Ike," I whispered. My younger brother seemed finally to grow uncomfortable with my uncharacteristic display of affection and cleared his throat, quickly moving toward the door. However, just as he was about to close it behind him, Ike paused, just his head barely peaking in as his eyes slowly riveted upon me.

"And Kyle, if that Anti-Semite fatass had something to do with this," he glanced up at me, "I'll kill that tubby son of a bitch."

The door closed behind him and a goofy grin stretched across my face.

Yep, that was my little brother all right.

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**A/n: Okay, so a little bit of brotherly love and something hot and confusing between the Nazi and the Jew. 0_o wonder what'll happpen. Please review because it means so very much to me.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Updated, as promised, and relatively soon, might I add. Okay, so this chapter is from Kenny's point of view and on that note, I want you guys to know that this is all one plot but it has several branches. I hope to bring it into a different perspective with each of the characters as they tell their side, and the story will progress, as opposed to one thing happening and then retelling it a bunch of different ways. On that note, no pairings are set in stone. It's a story, so be expecting the unexpected. Anyway, I really appriciate all the reviews and I mean it when I say that they seriously make my day, like I read my reviews as 10 pm and stayed up until 2 finishing the chapter because they fueled me so much. Thanks for all the encouragement and I hope you guys enjoy! R&R**

Clarity and Concession

My name is Kenny McCormick and I hate being woken up from a nap.

Which probably explains why I was super pissed when my doorbell rang at three in the afternoon (I had pointedly missed school was using the day to nap and catch up on my reading, i.e. Playboy). After stomping out half dressed and my blonde hair askew, I opened up my door to reveal a fairly soaked Stan Marsh who looked like he'd just murdered a puppy.

I couldn't even tell him to get the fuck off of my porch since he'd essentially thrown himself inside, snatching my wrist as he drug me back to my room. Another thing I hated was allowing people into my home because normally my parents were fighting, luckily they were gone today to the swap meet (breaking the stereotype, right?) and secondly, my room was littered in dirty clothes and for a bed, I pretty much had a bunch of blankets piled on my floor.

Stan plopped down on my comforter, hardly bothered by the mess, and leaned his back against the wall as a deep sigh racked his entire body. He honestly looked like shit, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, eyes red rimmed like he'd been crying or trying not to, and those heavy wrinkles he'd get when he was upset.

"So…," I crept onto the topic hesitantly, tip-toeing my way over before seating myself across from him.

"Dude, I think I just fucked up majorly," he said in a dark tone. "I mean, you know how Cartman spread that picture of me and Kyle, right? Well, Wendy broke up with me a couple of days ago, and then Kyle went all ape-shit on Cartman, and then I realized that I really love her and she already thought I was cheating on her with him for fuck's sake, so I sorta told Kyle that I couldn't hang with him anymore because I really want Wendy back."

It all came out in a rush, his words mingling together, but I felt stunned.

"You broke up with Kyle?" I asked slowly. "You broke up with Kyle. For Wendy?"

Stan winced at my harsh voice that had gradually turned into a yell of disbelief. I couldn't believe it; it was simply impossible. And then another thought occurred.

"Where the fuck is he?"

At first, he seemed confused by my question, tilting his head to one side as his brows knitted together tightly above his mosaic blue eyes.

"Where the fuck is _Kyle_!" I screamed, suddenly to my feet. My heart pounded in my chest as I imagined Kyle practically in tears, throwing himself in front of a bus, and God knows he'd do that sort of thing; Kyle's sense of judgment seemed to go out the window when he and Stan were having a fight, especially one this valid.

"I don't know, dude!" Stan cried back. "I mean, it wasn't like I was about to walk him home after that, you know."

"Oh Jesus Christ," I hissed, and then another terrible thought took hold of me. "Dude, what the hell were even thinking?"

The raven haired teen looked uncomfortable and then sighed again, his whole fame seeming to collapse in on itself. His eyes seem far away, detached, as if he were gazing into something distant and miserable, undoubtedly what had happened between them. Stan just looked up at me, mouth half open but no words came forth as he gave a little shake of his head.

He hadn't been thinking about it clearly, that much was obvious, because Stan had somehow deluded himself into believing that this would be in the best interest for Kyle, or some bull shit like that. I too felt suddenly at a loss as I reseated myself, staring at the palms of my hands in shock, in frustration, or somewhere betwixt and between.

"God damn it," I breathed out. "God _damn_ it."

"Look, Kenny, if this is the only way to get Wendy back, then Kyle should understand, and being my super best friend, he should respect the fact that at least I had the balls to tell him face to face," he explained, exhaling from his mouth little by little. "And would you stop saying that I broke up with him, god we aren't a fucking married couple dude," he added the last part begrudgingly.

"Yeah?" I challenged. "Because you totally fucked this one up, Stan."

"Fine, then I'm sorry, whatever, but you know, the damage is done. Wherever Kyle is, I'm sure he's safe," Stan said, his voice falling to nothing more than a thoughtful whisper. "And who knows, maybe this whole separation is the just the next turning point, for all of us."

I just looked back at my long-time childhood friend and sighed yet again. God how I hoped he was right.

* * *

When Tuesday reared its ugly head, I found myself walking to school beside a fairly nonresponsive little Jew, Stan's absence glaringly obvious. As much as I tried to make an effort to cheer him up, Kyle would just plaster on this fake grin and then return to being a mute. Either Kyle really was taking this separation thing hard, or something else had happened yesterday, and in that case, I was going to watch him for any sign.

For the rest of the day, my eyes were on Kyle, waiting for anything he did to give himself away, but it wasn't until lunch time that there actually seemed to be a reaction.

We were sitting with Butters, and the usual guys, laughing loudly and having a good time like always, however, I kept watch on Kyle out of the corner of my eye still, just in case.

And then Cartman walked up.

Kyle's face went slack, his jaw falling open slightly as if he wanted to say something but no words came forth, and Cartman stared at him with a carnal intensity that I couldn't quite place, him gripping his tray until his knuckles turned white. I'd never seen either look so strange, especially when directed at one another. It seemed like they were having a moment, where no one else existed as I momentarily felt myself caught in the trance as well. The cafeteria seemed to fall away into the background, simply white noise to accommodate the single look they were sharing.

"Come on, Kyle," I said abruptly, getting to my feet as I grabbed up the red head by the back collar of his jacket, practically dragging him away with me.

Slinging one arm over him, I began to lead him out the cafeteria past Cartman.

When we reached him, I paused, tilting my head to look at Cartman, feeling a strange swell of protectiveness in my chest for Kyle. Cartman turned his head slightly too, locking eyes with me evenly, seeing as we were practically the same height, me being perhaps a tad taller.

"I'm only going to warn you once, _Cartman_," my voice came out in a threatening growl, barely audible and meant for his ears only. "Fuck with Kyle, and I'll kill you."

"Promise?" he sneered mockingly, his eyes reflecting back at me the same dangerous seriousness. Then he cast one look at Kyle, however brief, and I swear something akin to desire flashed in the depths of his eyes, a strange possessiveness that I'd never seen before in that cold gaze. Yeah, something was definitely up, and Stan may have been more right than ever about this whole turning point.

I broke away, dragging Kyle along with me and trying to put as much distance between us and him as possible. By the time we reached the deserted linoleum halls, I was practically jogging just to get away and I could feel Kyle jostling behind me as he tried to run after me with his one wrist still clenched tightly by me.

When we reached the door, I all but tossed him up the stairs pushing him forward until finally we found ourselves on the snow-blanked roof of our high school. Kyle walked away from me, hands laced behind his head as he panted, releasing puffs of steam out into the frigid air.

"Dude," he breathed out roughly, "next time you want to talk to me alone, just say so. I'm really not up for sprinting to the roof every time you want to have a little chat, okay?"

I was panting too, but tried, and failed, to disguise it as I brushed past him to sit with my back leaning against the frosted chain-link fence adorning the edge. The Jew slowly began to approach, seeming to hesitate before plopping down next to me, the snow crunching audibly beneath him. Almost instinctively, I scooted closer to him until the sides of our bodies matched up and overlapped slightly, giving me a fringe of warm from him.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what just happened in there?" I asked, casting my eyes to the grayed sky above.

"What?"

"You know what; that little stare-down you had with Cartman. Dude, you looked like a fucking deer caught in the headlights of a very fat and anti-Semitic truck."

"Cartman isn't fat," was all that came out of Kyle's voice after a short moment of contemplation. He was right of course, the Nazi was actually pretty fit nowadays but somehow, Cartman would perpetually be that nine year old chubby little son of a bitch who on a regular basis got us into radical shenanigans.

"Be that as it may, you're still avoiding my question, dear little Kyle," I breathed, putting my face closer to his which instantly made him uncomfortable. For whatever reason, he seemed to have a problem with personal space, or maybe I did, considering I was always the one invading it. I draped my arms around his lean shoulders, smirking as I saw his forced smile twitch slightly. He always tried to put on such a brave face, but I could tell how much I was bothering him.

Just as he opened his mouth to answer, the door to the roof burst open, causing me to jolt and Kyle to scramble backwards.

Cartman just stood there, the fire in his eyes dying down momentarily as he seemed to be taking in the situation as he'd probably seen it: us alone, on the roof, and me practically on top of Kyle. That same dark look crossed his face yet again and it was directed at both of us this time.

Without saying a word, he slammed the door shut behind him as he stomped down the stairs, leaving Kyle and I staring after him, both at a loss.

For a moment, we just sat there in there snow, each of our breaths swirling in front of our faces. Kyle was staring at the door with a strange expression; a mix between confusion and pain, as if there was something he wished he'd said, or done, but hadn't. I too was in shock, but I kept trying to understand what was going on between those two.

Kyle hastily got to his feet and then finally turned his gaze upon me, his deep green eyes like daggers.

"Dude," he snapped, "not cool."

That oh-so simple statement seemed like a slap to the face as Kyle stormed off, not once looking back as he too slammed the roof door shut. I listened to the sound of his footsteps gradually getting farther away until they were nothing but echoes and then silence.

* * *

**A/n: Alright, so this chapter was a tad bit shorter and hey, it was Kenny's POV! Just in case some didn't catch that. Lol. So I feel weird writing as Kenny and the next chapter is going to be from Stan, so I hope some of you are excited for that because Stan's finally going to be allowed to argue his side of the story and justify his actions. Anyway, if you like then review please. :) Because they do mean so very much to an aspiring writer like myself.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Alright, so I was gonna post this on Christmas but then I decided to add a little extra, so that's why this chapter is pretty damn long. Well, long for the average ratio on this story anyway. So, finally we get a look into Stan's perspective, and let me tell you, it was pretty hard keeping everyone in character, but Kyle felt pretty easy because I feel like he could be cruel to Stan if need be. Okay, okay, I don't wanna give too much away, but damn, personally I love this chapter. It was a challenge to write but boy, I feel like it turned out pretty good, if I do say so myself, but hey, if you disagree, that's what reviews are for, and if you agree, then see previous answer. I wonder how many people actually bother to read Author's Notes? I could be saying random funny shit and honestly, no one would ever read. *Sigh* C'est la vivre. Blah blah blah. Okay, just checking to see if I have your attention. (Btw, if there are mistakes in my notes, sorry, I don't really reread them because I write them outside of Microsoft Word and on the fanfic whosey-whatssit)**

**Alright Darlings, please read, and seriously, reviews? I cannot explain how much they make my day. (Probably because I have a big ego :3)**

* * *

Like Plums and Green Beans

My name is Stan Marsh and I hate being forced into decisions.

So how the hell I found myself telling Kyle that I wasn't going to be his super best friend is still pretty much a mystery to me.

But let me back up.

In my life, I've always been juggling two people – Wendy and Kyle. I loved them, in what I considered to be different ways. That is until recently.

Wendy was sweet, but could be sour when she wanted, and God how I admired that about her. She could be tough and at times it seemed like she had more balls than I did, but I loved her most when she was being gentle, just running her fingers through my hair as she gazed down at me with those dark loving eyes. No one could question how much I loved her, and it seemed almost to be the thing tying me down to earth.

And then there was Kyle with his wavy red hair and green eyes that could convey his emotions flawlessly, truly putting the phrase 'window to the soul' to shame. He was the louder one of the two of us, him often yelling and quick to anger, but that was just who he was. Kyle was passionate in almost everything he did – school, fighting Cartman, brothering Ike, the list goes on – and he even seemed passionate about me. I loved the way he knew everything about me, and was only ever trying to help me, like when we'd eat goldfish crackers because he insisted it would get rid of my phobia.

Wendy was a sweet yet sour plum and Kyle was a stringy fresh green bean, each of them so very different yet fit me so very well.

So when things suddenly changed between Kyle and me, it ruined everything. I wouldn't be lying if I said that I'd never actually considered Kyle in _that_ was before, because we just had a really strong bromance, however, calling him my brother felt wrong, so super best friend was the title that fell into place. But then he kissed me, with tongue, and suddenly Kyle Broflovski was hot and began to fall under the same category with Wendy more than with Kenny.

Anytime my mind dared to brave that garbled drunken memory of us making out, I'd find myself puking out my guts with the biggest hard-on I'd had in a long while.

Then once Wendy told me that I'd have to choose between her and Kyle, initially I didn't know what to do, so I went to Kyle's and told him some bogus story that Wendy's broken up with me, hoping that he'd just tell me to forget her and make some sort of move on me to at least let me know if what I thought was happening between us wasn't my imagination. But then Kyle seemed so mad at Cartman that I was sure he was finally going to kill him.

And so as I'd walked back home from Kyle's house, I realized that if I did choose Kyle over Wendy, he probably would not want me in the same way I was wanting him. Truthfully, I doubted that he ever found himself jerking off because of me or was somehow hoping that this would finally give him the chance to tell me of his undying love for me. In all honesty, Kyle probably considered us making out to be a fairly odd occurrence but not some life-shattering event where he uncovered deep feelings of lust.

So my only option was to choose Wendy and spare Kyle any more humiliation, but secretly it was also because these new found feelings scared the absolute shit out of me. Kyle and Wendy were so different and it couldn't have been more obvious to me after kissing Kyle. He was rough and demanded a struggle for dominance, where with Wendy I could just cuddle and not have to fight against her when we were being intimate.

On that rainy afternoon, I broke my best friend's heart and god I could feel mine breaking as he looked at me like I was joking. All I wanted as soon as those words left my mouth was to take them back and pull him in close, promising that I'd never, couldn't, hurt him, but I didn't. I let Kyle walk away without another word, without even a fight.

After that, I went to Kenny's, where he yelled at me, and then called Wendy to tell her that I did it. She was surprised and I could tell that she wasn't happy because she'd probably been expecting me to stay with Kyle, but I assured her he'd get over it, or at the very least I hoped he wouldn't hate me.

But I couldn't have been more wrong.

* * *

I slammed my locker shut, glancing at Kenny skeptically. He'd just finished telling me his whole conspiracy theory that somehow something unexplainable happened between Kyle and Cartman and that he wanted me to help him investigate further.

"Look dude," I sighed, focusing on the chipping green paint of my locker, "in case you forgot, but me and Kyle aren't exactly on good terms. I haven't talked to him in like three days."

The taller teen in the orange parka groaned tossing his shoulder bag roughly over his back as he began to walk away.

"God, Stan, you are so useless sometimes," I heard him grumble under his breath as he disappeared down the hallway.

However, my little 'chat' with Kenny got me thinking. Was something up between Kyle and Cartman? I remember Kenny dragging him off during lunch when I was sitting with Wendy but it wasn't like I could go rushing after either of them.

"Hey stranger," a familiar voice purred from behind me as petite purple gloved hands lingered up my chest before squeezing me in a gentle hug. Wendy. Her sweet floral scent engulfed me, making my limbs go numb yet my made my heart race with electricity. She slid around me to plant a kiss on my cheek and snatch up my hands in her own. With the way she looked at me, so possessive and loving, it sometimes made me feel like I was the girlfriend in the relationship. I gulped.

"Hey, Wendy," I breathed slowly, "you look really nice today."

And boy did she, especially when she wore that black mini skirt and boots that came up to her mid thigh, what with her purple stockings sticking out just slightly with still a little strip of her pale skin between the two articles. Her deep violet blouse scooped perfectly at her neck, yet her arms were hidden underneath her black trench coat that fell down to her knees, clinging to her thin waist and making her look almost doll-like with a figure like that. She smiled at me, those deep endless pools glimmering back at me with complete and utter adoration.

"I was thinking maybe today afterschool you and I could study a little bit and maybe pop in a movie, what do you say?"

"S-sure," I stuttered, grinning so wide and idiotically that it almost hurt. Wendy of course noticed this and grabbed my face, pushing my mouth into an odd puckering position as she planted yet another chaste kiss on me, though this time upon my lips. Before I had a chance to grab her up and kiss her senseless, she glided away from me, tossing a playful wink in my direction then headed off to her class.

Yet, my moment was ruined as I turned to see Kyle, chatting up a pretty redheaded girl I'd noticed awhile back in the chemistry class we shared. She was thin, medium height, and always wore her hair back in a clip, leaving two little ringlets to slip out and frame her freckled face. To say the least, she was his type – athletic but not sporty, smart, and funny.

A bitter taste washed over my mouth and I'd bet that it looked like I was smelling something rank with the way my nose scrunched up. I suddenly wanted to vomit, and not in the good way (if there was one). Forcing the sickening sensation aside, I strode off to my next class, not even bothering to look back.

* * *

_Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock._

I wondered how long one minute could last as my eyes followed the thin red arm on the school clock as it made its final rotation before 2:30. The bell rang annoyingly long as I snatched up my plain navy backpack and started for the door. Wendy would be staying later today since she had boxing practice with the team so I had about thirty minutes to kill before she'd be ready to leave.

The halls were slowly clearing out, people passing me by and some casting me a dirty look since I was taking me sweet time. Suddenly, I was jarred forward, stumbling as I tried to catch myself from falling.

A familiar form pushed past me, wearing that unmistakable blue and yellow hat that still fit him even after all these years.

"Watch it, Craig Fucker!" I yelled at him through the swarm of students, who all seemed oblivious to me. The taller teen continued to make his way through the crowd, ignoring my insult, which only seemed to incense me. Of all the shit I'd been going through, Craig seemed to snap the very last nerve I had. I'd lost my best friend, Kenny was pissed at me, and godammit, no one was giving me a break. It wasn't often that I'd get mad – that usually Kyle's thing – but I'd been given a golden opportunity to vent all of my feelings in a very violent way so I'd be damned if I didn't take it.

I pushed through the mob recklessly until I reached my desired target. Craig was moving surprisingly fast and I felt my anger begin to rise to the surface. This burning need for a fight drove me forward as I snatched Craig's wrist tightly, yanking him back full force to me, drawing my fist back to deliver a powerful punch.

My flame was extinguished instantly when Craig and I finally came face to face. His blue eyes were red rimmed and spilling over with tears, dripping down his face and leaving tear tracks behind. He shoved me away roughly and I let him go, still in shock.

"Fuck you, Stan," he snarled, flipping me the bird as he disappeared into the throng of students.

_What the hell?_ was all I could think for a moment. I waited until the halls were completely cleared students, mulling over what'd I'd just seen patiently. With slow deliberate steps, I began to make my way to Wendy's Prius, ghosting down the stairs and out past the quad.

I glanced ahead to see a thin student in a black hoodie accompanied with a green hat that I'd recognize anywhere. Kyle. Vaguely I wondered what had happened to his normal orange jacket but quickly dismissed the thought as I jogged over to catch up with him. As I caught up with him, I was dully surprised that he wasn't noticing me as I drew closer and closer until I was walking nearly in step with him, practically brushing against him with every stride.

"You'd never guess what just happened to me," I breathed out, steam swirling out from my mouth before dissipating into thin air. South Park only ever seemed to be getting colder. "I saw Craig in the halls, and he was like sobbing. It was the strangest thing, I mean, had it been Clyde, I would've just assumed he'd heard Cartman singing again."

"Dude, what're you doing?"

I faltered, jarring to stop as Kyle had turned to face me with that angry gaze and slanted brows cocked just slightly – a sign that he was pissed but didn't want to show it. Nervously, I swallowed the spit in my mouth to wet my dried throat.

"What? I can't have a simple conversation with a … a classmate?" I shrugged, trying to brush it off as nothing; however, my nonchalant demeanor seemed only to aggravate Kyle further.

He poked me in the chest, and hard, as he hissed, "No, Stan, you can't. Not when this 'classmate' is your ex-super best friend."

Okay. That hurt, but I tried not to let it show. Kyle was being fair, and I knew I'd hurt him really bad, but couldn't he see I was at least trying? And alright, I know it was weird, sending him away and then talking to him like nothing happened, but when it came to Kyle, well I was a moth and he was a flame: I was drawn to him, almost unconsciously, that is until I get burned.

"Well, just because I wanted to put some distance between us doesn't mean that I want to cut all ties with you!" I said exasperatedly, throwing my hands up.

Kyle just rolled his eyes and mumbled "unbelievable" under his breath as he turned to walk away. I was having a sudden feeling of déjà vu, as if I were standing back under the rain, watching Kyle stalk off. My hands shot out as I gripped him by the shoulders and spun him to face me, holding onto him by his upper arms tightly. He didn't even wince.

I opened my mouth to say something but my voice died in my throat as I noticed a bruise on the corner of his lips. Hesitantly, my fingers slid up the side of his neck and over his jaw as they gingerly swept across the darkened mark.

"Who did this to you?" I thought aloud.

Suddenly, Kyle jerked backwards violently, breaking my hold on him as he took several steps away from me, half glaring, half gawking at me. His cheeks were flushed, and I was certain it wasn't from the cold. It looked like he wanted to say something, and god I wanted him just to say anything, do anything just to keep him from leaving.

Arms encircled themselves around his waist, pulling him away from my reach. My eyes trailed up those thick arms to the smirking face of Eric Cartman, whose deep brown eyes were seething with a hidden rage. He tilted his face against Kyle's, Cartman's lips brushing against his earlobe, eyes never once leaving me as he said huskily, "I thought I told you to wait for me at my car, Jew?"

Kyle stood stoically, as if Cartman had given him this strange and newfound resolve as he continued to stare at me and respond carelessly with, "Oh, must've slipped my mind."

I swear, Cartman nearly growled, not at me this time but at Kyle as his dark russet eyes watched him predatorily. It made my skin crawl and suddenly I was forcing vomit back down my throat as I tried not to puke my guts out in front of the two of them.

"Well Stan, seems as though my Jew and I should be going," Cartman finally said, tearing his gaze away from Kyle, who still looked emotionless as ever. It seemed as though Cartman had settled with a triumphant tone as he began to retreat, turning Kyle in his arms so that he had one still looped securely over his shoulders.

"K-kyle," I managed to choke out, jolting forward but cutting myself short.

The Broflovski teen turned ever so slightly, his forest eyes staring me down with a look of absolute concentration, as if he were taking into account my entirety in that one glance. As if he were sizing me up.

_Please don't go,_ I begged mentally, hoping that my eyes could convey that at the very least, that somehow he couldn't choose Cartman over me. _Please, dear God Kyle, don't leave me for _him.

A brief smile ghosted across his face, but it was filled with empty malice.

I watched in horror as he turned away from me, letting himself be led away by Cartman, even going so far as to wrap his own arm around Cartman's waist and rest it in his back jeans pocket. Okay, I was gonna hurl.

Turning, I made a mad dash to the gymnasium with my hand clutching my nose and mouth desperately, rounding a corner away from the parking lot before I collapsed. I puked, and puked, and puked. I barfed until my stomach was trembling with pain and there was nothing left, until I was dry-heaving wretchedly.

But warm hands slid underneath my arms as I was picked up to my feet and leaned partially against the wall and also being supported by a small hot frame. Those same hands caressed my back in slow small circles and rubbed the back of my neck tenderly. The remaining vomit was dabbed at by something fluffy and soft, but I was too lost to even notice.

"Shh, baby, it's going to be okay," came the very faint gentle whisper beside me, soothing me. Feeling the start of tears begin to fall, I turned my gaze onto Wendy, still in her sports bra, shorts and tennis shoes, her hair tied back into a messy ponytail.

"Wendy," I sighed, "take me home."

* * *

**Author's After-thoughts: Alrighty, so shit finally hits the fan as we see Cartman & Kyle through Stan's eyes. Honestly, at this point, I'm kinda up in the air about what pairs I want. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have a couple set-in-stone pairings, but where Kyle's concerned, I just can't decide! So, dear readers, do you guys like K2, Style or Kyman? Hit that "REVIEW" button down there and influence me a little ;)**

**Another thing, for those who actually remember this part after all that juicy drama, Craig was crying - like a little girl - and so that may or may not tie into a plot in its own unique way. :D Lots of Love ~ CutiePie**


	5. Chapter 5

**Edit* Sorry guys, I had this up a few hours ago but I took it down just to fix a few stupid mistakes. Sorry.**

**Author's Note: First things first, I'd like to thank all of the people who reviewed and left me their opinions. Those comments actually helped me write this chapter. But, just because it may seem like there's a chosen couple in this chapter, don't be decieved. Things can change really fast ;). And, *spoiler alert!* how do you guys feel about Craig and Kenny getting some action in? I was toying with making that the fifth chapter, but I didn't want to hang you guys out to dry and I also wanted some feedback on how well that'd go over. **

**Anyway, I'm actually really proud of how this chapter came out. I felt like I did a good job in characterization but you know, if I didn't, then I'd like to know, so reviews? Thanks, and please enjoy the next chapter of _Boundaries_.**

* * *

Challenging Challenges

I couldn't believe it, and maybe I wouldn't have if Stan hadn't been looking at me like I'd turned 'f-ugly'* and starting belting out Susan Boyle – that or if I didn't have a certain Eric Cartman practically dry-humping me from behind – but Cartman was defending me, hell, even getting me out of what I'd definitely call a jam.

But of course he was putting me in a compromised position, as per usual. I was caught between a rock and a hard place; formally know as between an emo kid and a fatass. And I knew he was doing it on purpose. Cartman wanted me to pick him over Stan and even more so, he wanted me to appear to be his bitch. If there was a thing I hated more than Cartman, and Moses is that a big fucking 'if', was Cartman getting his way, essentially getting what he wanted all along. It drove me insane, that stupid smirk of his and the way he'd look all smug, like the time he made me watch a version of myself suck his –.

Okay, I squelched that thought right there. He was just lucky I couldn't see his face, otherwise I would've have blown this cover – whatever the fuck it may be. Above all, I knew that Cartman was well aware of how precariously we were keeping up with balancing act, only problem was that even if I tipped and blew up in a rage, he'd still be happy. For some reason he just took endless delight in seeing me angry. However, if I complied obediently, he'd also get his way, so I needed a different solution to still get away from Stan via Cartman without him winning.

Like I said, precarious balancing act.

So I chose the one thing that I alone could do that would get under his skin, and undoubtedly creep the shit out of Stan because honestly, he did kind of deserve it. What with breaking the whole 'bros before hoes' rule.

Settling on a casual, if maybe flippant tone, I said daringly that it "must've slipped my mind". I could practically feel his skin vibrating in annoyance at his loss of being able to humiliate me once more. He turned his attention onto Stan with a sense of finality and I knew that once he and I were away from any witnesses, I was going to pay, but until then, I would live it up, looking as boringly hapless as I could just to get under Cartman's skin.

He turned to lead me away, keeping one arm still around me just in case I was thinking about making a break for it, using myself as a hostage. I was dying to beat Cartman to a bloody little pulp, fuck consequences, for pulling this little stunt of his.

"K-kyle!"

I honestly had nothing left to say to Stan, but that little vindictive part of me that only Cartman could bring out wanted to just rub it in a little bit more, show boat for only a moment longer. So I slipped my hand into Cartman's back pocket as I turned away, giving him a little squeeze just for emphasis and also because I didn't want to miss the look on Cartman's face as he realized just how far I'd match him in 'playing along'. Yeah, I'd definitely risen to the challenge, and hell I'd even say that I'd bested Stan and thoroughly impressed my arch-nemesis.

Whatever Cartman had in mind, I was willing to match him pound for pound, and for his sake, it'd be a whole fucking lot. He flawlessly led me to his car, not once breaking contact, but once Cartman checked behind us to see no Stan, we instantly separated. Something about him being close to me just made my skin crawl.

We got in the car without saying a word and, just like last time, for a long moment we just sat there, Cartman's hand hovering over the ignition as we both stared off aimlessly too lost in our own thoughts of what to say to actually say anything at all.

"I'm not going to thank you," I deadpanned finally, resting my chin upon my palm as I leaned against the inside of the car door.

"Wasn't expecting one," came his gruff reply which only seemed to further annoy me.

"And don't expect me to be in your debt or something, fatass," I added harshly, putting enough venom into my voice to let him know I was being serious. Turning in my seat slightly, I eyed him vehemently.

His shoulders slumped, ever so minutely, as he half sighed, "Wasn't expecting you to be, Jew-boy."

Huh? Cartman missed a chance to exploit me, quite an obvious prospect too. All I could think to do was murmur an awkward "oh" and settle back into the comfortable leather seat. After what seemed to be an eternity, Cartman finally started his car.

The whole drive back to his house was silent, just the roar of his engine filling the air between us. Again I was stuck, wanting to say something but not sure of just what. Cartman seemed fine with not talking, and I could tell his mood was declining quickly, probably because I'd ruined his fun. I mean, yeah okay, so he was helping me – sort of – and maybe purposely pissing him off wasn't a good idea, and neither was being a rude as I just was to him. But I was expecting him to be a dick, so sue me if he for once proved me wrong about himself, because god knows that's a fucking first.

Yet again, we found ourselves in his drive way.

"Cartman…," I trailed off, trying to force any words to come forth, but he simply ignored me, slamming the truck door shut behind him as he headed off into his house, not once looking back. Pissed, I jumped out too and began to storm after him.

"Wait, you fat Nazi!" I hollered after him, but still he kept walking like I hadn't said anything, however leaving his front door open wide for me to follow him if I'd like. Without any hesitation I proceeded, shutting the door behind me as I tried again to get his attention.

He was just standing, back to me and arms hanging limply at his sides. What the hell was his problem?

"Look, Cartman, I'm…god I can't believe I'm about to say this to you," I mumbled the last part incredulously. "I'm sorry and…thanks for helping me."

"Get the fuck out of my house," he said quietly, not once turning to look at me.

"Dude, what the f-,"

"I said to fucking get out!" he snarled, whirling on me. "Don't even think for one mother fucking second, you Jewish dickwad, that I 'helped' you," he used air quotes, "because I was being nice. We're enemies; in case you happened to fucking forget. I only did what I did to make you suffer, so don't even pretend to be grateful, _kike_."

Personally, I think he was doing it on purpose, trying to get me mad, trying to make me snap. I don't know why, but I think somehow he prefers us fighting than getting along. For whatever reason, he's entirely appalled to the idea of us ever once being on good terms – that, or he was just looking for another fight, and in that case I was more than happy to oblige.

So really, when I smashed him against the wall with all the force I had, practically lifting him off of the ground by the collar of his jacket, I don't understand why he looked so damn surprised.

"God Cartman, what the fuck do you want from me?" I screamed venomously, with boundless fury.

Cartman's eyes burned back at me so intently I thought for a moment I would melt right on the spot.

"I want you to get the fuck out of my house, Jew-rat, and out of my life. I want you dead," he roared right back. "_I hate you_!"

Those three simple words, words that you think would be a commonality between us, but strangely weren't. We called each other a lot of things, did horrible shit to each other, but it wasn't often those words would fly from our mouths.

"No you don't," I growled determinedly, inching in closer as if I could pry the truth from the depths of his eyes.

"Yes, I do!" he protested loudly, which only fueled my anger suddenly.

"Damn it, Cartman!" My piercing voice echoed all around us. I slackened my grip as if I were about to let go, taking a small step back. But, eyes growing wide, Cartman instantly closed the distance between us, looking almost panicked at my abrupt retreat. His large hands were now at my collar as well, gripping tightly in stark contrast with my own limp hold.

"I hate you, Kyle," he insisted in a hoarse whisper that was so strained, it was barely even audible. Those dark eyes were begging me to understand somehow.

"No, Cartman," I whispered, pressing myself against him, "I don't think you hate me at all, in fact…,"

I never finished my sentence.

Cartman's lips were hot against my own, persistent in his attempt to get some reaction. I shivered into his embrace as his hands instantly abandoned my shirt and dove for my hair, my green hat falling to the floor unnoticed. _Self-control be damned_, I thought to myself as I gave in to every feeling I had for Eric Cartman, pouring all of my carnal rage, lust and frustration into that kiss, tangling my tongue with his in a heated struggle for power.

Once again, I slammed him back up against the wall, clenching and clawing at him desperately, like a drowning man. I swear, Cartman _moaned_ into my mouth as my teeth grazed roughly across his lower lip. Him touching me, it was deliciously revolting – wrong but in the best kind of way.

And then we broke for air, panting, our foreheads pressed together and our eyes on par, meeting evenly. Reality came rushing back to meet me, making my stomach twist and knot itself together as the realization of what I just did – what we just did – hit me like a ton of bricks. And, Jesus Christ, I fucking liked it, and what's worse? So did he. I was going to be sick.

I turned away from my supposed arch-nemesis, a new sense of frustration welling up in my chest. With a harsh curse, I kicked uselessly at the back of his couch once or twice, my hands laced behind and entangled in my now freed Jew-fro. Blessedly, Cartman remained quiet for the next few minutes as we both regained our breaths, me not daring to turn around for fear of making eye contact.

"Your…your jacket is still on the sofa," he said gruffly, trying not to pant. This was so fucked up on so many different levels. I felt like I was on autopilot as I reached across the back of it and snatched up my newly folded orange coat.

_Did he wash it?_

"And…uh…your hat, Jew."

Facing him, I saw that Cartman had retrieved my garment from off of the floor, looking at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world right now. With a slight hesitation, I grabbed my hat back, now rotating my attention to it.

"You know…," he hesitated as I prayed he wouldn't say anything to make situation worse, "that was a lot more fun than arguing with you, _Kahl_. Especially if all I have to do is call you a kike."

His voice had dropped to almost an alluring tone, flirtatious. Maybe he was trying to diffuse the situation, but one look back at him and I knew he was doing anything but. Cartman was waiting to see if I'd play along again, or checking to make sure he hadn't gone too far this time, which of course he had, but yelling at him didn't quite seem as fun for some reason.

I leaned in a little closer to him, smirking as he gave a small jolt from my proximity. For all the times that he'd bullied me, it seemed like I had a big advantage all of a sudden.

His eyes slid down my face to focus on my lips as his own nearly trembled with want. This was definitely a side of Cartman I'd never seen before and I had a sneaking feeling he was thinking the same the thing about me.

"Hmm," I pretended to contemplate, "I'd like to see what else you could call me with those lips."

Cartman moved as if he was going to grab me by the waist but I was faster, taking a large stride backwards. He cocked an eyebrow at me, trying to mask his annoyance at me suddenly being a tease as he took another step toward me. I waited until he was right in my face again, nose to nose, before I moved out of his reach. Grinning at him, I bet I looked like such a little smart-ass.

"Well," I began, waving him off with my free hand, the other clenching my retrieved articles tightly to my side, "it's getting late and I think I better be headed home."

Big mistake, I realized as I turned to open the front door. Cartman, apparently, did not like me yanking his chain and did not like being the helpless one between us. His hands slammed down on the wood on either side of me, his chest brushing against my back. My body went rigid as Cartman's scent was all around me again, so disgustingly provoking.

Once more, his lips wandered to my earlobe, however after taking a small detour up my neck and along my jaw, as he breathed, "Fine, go home and rest: you'll need all the energy you can get before we play again, my little Jew bitch."

I opened my mouth to give a stinging retort, but suddenly, the front door opened, I was being flung outside, stumbling as I tried to catch myself from falling. Glancing back, Cartman was still waiting in the door frame. We shared a look, one that said it all. In this game or whatever you'd call it, Cartman had served it back to me and now it was my turn, if I still wanted to even play. He closed his door and broke our staring contest, leaving me alone on his front porch alone.

"Game on, fatass."

* * *

***F-ugly**: _to be either fucking ugly or fat n' ugly but however in this particular case, it could be interpreted as either, or both_

**Author's After-thoughts: Alright, game on, motha fuckers! Sorry, I really wanted to say that :3 but anywhosie, what did you think? OOCs? Personally (throwing in my two cents on my own chapter XD) I liked the back and forth I had between them. Like at some points it was awkward as both tried to adjust to their situation, but I loved when Cartman was surprised when Kyle decided to play along - both times. I do love a good surprised Cartman. Thanks for reading ~ CutiePie**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Okay, so I decided to make another little branch on this already growing tree just to spice it up a little, plus it's a pretty good filler as I leave you guys dangling this time about where Kyle and Cartman are going to be headed. This chapter was long simply because I enjoyed writing in Craig's perspective and it seemed appropriate because I needed this to lead in to where Stan say Craig crying, which of course, we will get to, but perhaps not in this chapter, though this is packed with a little extra sprinkles on top ;) Oh, and if you guys could let me know whether or not to bump up the rating would be great. I have no gauge on what's 'appropriate' aparently. **

**Anyway, hope you all enjoy and pretty please, some reviews? I did after all update twice in one day :D**

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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Bird in the Hand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

My name is Craig Tucker, though Cartman and his gang have recently taken to the name 'Craig Fucker', and I hate girls. And not in that 'oh they have cooties' sort of way either, no I hate everything about them – to their poofy hair and pouty lips to those things they call boobs which supposedly every guy is just dying to get a look at, god only knows why.

But I wasn't always like that. Years ago, when Clyde showed me his entire collection of Playboy, I thought girls were hot, so seeing a sexy blonde with big hooters was enough to get me off for quite awhile, but like most addictive substances, you needed more to feel the effects as time wore on, so reasonably, seeing a topless girl didn't cut it anymore. And then, like all boys my age, I turned to the internet to seek some 'better stimulation' if you know what I mean.

I began watching porn, so much that it almost seemed like a job. I'd clock in at 8 and sometimes wasn't finished until 2. My hands got quite the work out and my tissue boxes didn't last as long as they should have, but such was the life of a teenage boy.

But then I stumbled across a very particular video that changed how I viewed women. At the time, I didn't know what a dominatrix was, but after seeing a very vivid sex scene between a beautiful blonde in butt-less chaps, a red thong and matching skimpy bra and some muscular sniveling man, I was hooked. She'd worn this thing called a 'strap-on' and put it places I didn't even know you could. That video lasted me days, if not weeks, until her next video came out, to which I was also instantly hooked.

At that time, I decided that if I could find a girl who was sexually devious and would give it to me any damn time she felt like, then the opposite sex wasn't all bad.

So as the start of sophomore in South Park High, I earned quite the name as a player. I'd ask girls out, find that they were petite and girly, and then dump 'em on the spot. All I wanted was a girl who could be a little rough, and yet it seemed like they didn't exist. By the time my 10th grade year was coming to a close, I hung up the idea of finding a girl to satisfy me and was then decided porn-sexual.

Alright, so this would be a pointless story if it didn't go somewhere, unfortunately for me, it did; however, it all began with a certain Kenny McCormick.

* * *

Over the summer break before our junior year, Clyde had been having some doubts about Bebe, assuming that she was seeing some else behind his back, and that someone, he was sure, was Kenny. There'd been a virulent rumor going around that in his spare time, Mr. McCormick whored himself out – but for a price. Being so poor, people said that it was his last resort to get money. Honestly, at the time I didn't believe it. Kenny may have been good-looking and hell, he was poor as shit, but I just couldn't see him as the type to be a prostitute.

Clyde devised a plan that at Token's End-of-Summer Bash, we get Kenny abhorrently drunk of his ass and question him whether or not Bebe had been paying him to sleep with her.

However, our plans fell through.

Within the first hour, Token _and_ Clyde were hammered, singing way out of key along with a Queen song that they demanded the DJ play. Being the fucking designated driver for Clyde, I didn't want anything to drink, but as the party continued to wilder, and me realizing that whatever Bebe and Kenny may have been doing wasn't really my problem, I found myself at the open bar that was discreetly hidden in the back.

God, Token's parents were so clueless sometimes. They left on a cruise for Mexico and honestly didn't think that Token would host a party? No, they probably did, but were crossing their fingers that we were at least a little responsible with drinking, so that was probably why they left the number of the guy who bar-tended most of their events against the fridge with a magnet. At least then it wasn't stolen alcohol or some shit.

Seating myself at one of the several barstools, I shook away my nagging thoughts. I was at a party and still could lighten up, go figure. A very familiar form was then occupying the space next me, giving me a lewd smile. My eyes trailed absently away from my martini and over to the mischievously glinting blue eyes, that appeared almost a smoke gray in the dim lighting. The pulsating beat that seemed to surround us melded with the thrumming of my heart.

"Hey, McCormick," left my lips hap hazardously before I downed the clear alcohol in one large gulp. Long agile fingers hoisted my green olive away as it disappeared behind that Cheshire cat grin. A tingling buzz began to reverberate in the black of my skull and traveled down the length of my spine pleasantly.

"Hey yourself, Tucker," came the even reply. I could feel the party steadily winding down as people in all states of drunkenness began to vacate the thoroughly trashed home, the one that I knew sometime tomorrow I'd be assisting in clean up, as per usual. "Or should I say Fucker?"

Smirking, I reintroduced him to my middle finger, "Don't push it, you poor piece of shit."

Kenny leered at me, sliding a little closer on his bar stool, facing me with his back pressed up against the counter as his finger absent-minded traced the outline of the glass. There was something about the way he was looking at me, maybe the way his eyes continued to flick down to my lips occasionally. Just as I was about to break our moment of silence, Kenny drew himself in just a tiny bit closer, his nose brushing against mine. His breath smelled faintly of bubble gum and whiskey as the hot puffs rolled off my cheeks and cooled on my exposed neck.

"Actually Craig, I was hoping you could give me a ride home, that is, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Are you coming onto me, Kenny McCormick?" I asked, unphased as I cocked one dark eyebrow back at him. Two could definitely play at this game.

A dark alluring hunger flashed deep in those eyes of his, and suddenly, Kenny wasn't that far from being a dominatrix to me – he could get it inside me, dish it out, and still crave more. His sexual appetite, I realized with a pleasurable jolt, was probably on par with my own.

"Hmm," he contemplated for a moment, "I suppose that all depends. Is it working?"

This was too much. Snorting with laughter, I playfully shoved him before I hopped off my seat, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. Giving a little jerk of my head, I signaled Kenny to follow.

"C'mon, we need to go round up Clyde and Tweekers," I began to walk into the fray of the still on-going party. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that Clyde would be upset about not getting the information, but in all truthfulness, he was either making out with the whole night, or some other girl and would then have no reason to be upset.

Sure enough, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a head of shaggy blonde hair taking off after me, sticking close to my elbow as we wormed our way through the crowd of drunken party-goers. I passed by Cartman and Kyle who were doing the usual married couple routine, both getting in each others' faces as they argued heatedly about something stupid.

"Tomato…it's a fruit…tubby asshole!" I heard snippets of their conversation as Kyle's ginger face had a flush to it from too much alcohol and rage, to which Cartman was practically leering at him and licking his lips. _Fags_.

Kenny was sniggering behind me as I rolled my eyes, grabbing him up by the sleeve of his orange parka and dragging him along with me, leaving the odd pair behind in the mess of people.

I found Tweek dancing with a pretty brunette, lampshade clinging partially to the spikes of blonde hair and coming down just to his eyes. A lopsided grin was plastered on his face and he looked uncharacteristically calm. Alcohol had that effect on him, nearly neutralizing his usual twitchy paranoia completely.

"Hey, Tweek, buddy?" I greeted him, trying to get his attention from the girl grinding up on him. He glanced up at me, a huge grin splitting his face as he broke from the girl, who pouted behind. I tried to keep the disgusted look off of my face as she crossed her arms under her big boobs, pushing them together on purpose, while she puckered up her lips in what might've been an attempt at pursing.

"Hey Craig," he said simply with a sly smile, fist bumping Kenny without so much as a glance at the other guy, his eyes staying on me. The funny thing about Tweek being drunk was that he just seemed to exude this cool factor, and god he was smooth. And also he flirted with anything that breathed, so I usually tried to play it as innocently as I could with Tweek.

"Look, we need start heading home, so why don't you say goodnight to your friend?" I offered as nicely as I could. The girl behind him shot me a dirty look, to which I casually flipped her off, which of course made Tweek bust into drunken laughter. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why that tickled him so much.

"Oh, fuck her," he shrugged, completely ignoring the girl. We began to stride away, and I couldn't help shoot her a triumphant smile. "Besides, she's just some slut!"

We found Clyde pretty busy with Bebe, as I predicted, so things must've finally smoothed over. It took some convincing but I got him to leave her so I could take him back home with Tweek. Kenny helped me get them into the back of the car and at least attempted to get them buckled in, and finally when we had Tweek secured, we decided if Clyde busted his head open, then too bad.

"Alright, I'm taking you two back to Tweek's place, right?" I asked, casting a look at my two hammered passengers who had arms slung over each other. Clyde nodded enthusiastically back at me, spitting out a slurred confirmation.

Once we pulled into his drive way, Tweek pulled Clyde out with him, hauling him up to the front door. The two gave me an over exaggerated wave before disappearing back inside as I made my way back to my house. Suddenly, a very firm warm hand was on my thigh, massaging and gripping tightly. I turned slowly, coming face to face with those deep blue eyes, my car gradually coming to a stop in the middle of the street.

"Kenny, what're you doing?" I asked in a monotone voice, feeling apprehension growing in my chest as the blonde teen eyed me deviously.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he feigned innocence, scooting closer to me.

I glanced back and forth between his eyes, trying to see any hint that he was just joking with me, that all he wanted was a ride home and that him flirting with me at the party was harmless. He leaned in close, placing one hand on my chest and tracing invisible patters with his fingernail through my thin black shirt.

"You know, it's free the first time. No charge, just for you. What do you say?" he offered waggling his eyes golden eyebrows at me suggestively.

Yes captain, I believe we just lost contact. It was a surreal moment, looking at this blonde haired, blue eyed devil and realizing that all those terrible rumors about him, about him being just some whore, about being paid to sleep with people, were true, and not just that, but he wanted me to be a customer. My mind felt slow and stupid, like one of those old Mac computers, as I processed all of the data. Kenny, me, sex. I waited for the disgust to come but there was none.

"I'm not entirely against the idea," I though absently aloud. Kenny was smirking at me, moving until he was practically straddling my hips.

"Then why don't I convince you a little more?"

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A long time ago, my dad and I came to the silent agreement that when there was a party happening, my dad would take my mom out to a fancy restaurant and then after, the two would stay the night at some fancy hotel and get freaky, or whatever the hell married people did. In return, the house would have to be the same way they left it and my nightly 'visitor' would have to be gone come morning. My dad didn't bother with the whole protection speech because I think he already had the idea that I sort of just got it. Use a condom, blah blah, don't break anything, blah blah blah. We signed our little deal the Tucker way – a good stiff middle finger – and carried on with our lives.

So, when Kenny and I came into my house, rather loudly, we didn't have to worry about my parents coming down to find their son making out with a sexy blonde _male._

I don't usually kiss and tell like most guys, but by the end of the night, I felt like I had accomplished some major conquest worth bragging. We did it on every availably stable surface downstairs – my coffee table, my couch, my kitchen table, hell even the carpet, though we both learned pretty quick that rug burns weren't fun. Finally we actually made up the stairs, delayed slightly because we did it again on the third step and then the seventh. Once we made it to my bed, however, I lost count.

Kenny was a dynamo in the sack, good with any position and ready to go time after time. Top, bottom, we tried everything, and I can easily say that Kenny had been everywhere accessible (and even some places that almost didn't) on my body and visa versa. Towards the end of the night, as dawn was beginning to break on the edge of the horizon, we hit our limit.

Soft morning light spilled in my window, painting the sky a perfect pastel green and dappled with flecks of golden pink clouds. Kenny, hair haloed with pale silver light, seemed almost godly as he straddled me, still in the wonderful afterglow of our vicarious sex. The crisp white sheet hugged his waist, exposing his porcelain torso that rippled with well-toned muscles, as his skin as radiant, seemingly generating it own light.

"Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face right now, Craig," he commanded breathily, a huge smile splitting his face. He was stunning.

With a small grunt, he flopped down next to me, drawing the thin sheets up over our hips as he settled into the cushioning pillows contently. We made a point not to cuddle, much to my delight, and instead just laid side by side, not touching but the heat of his body beside me a comforting constant.

"Okay," I sighed, blowing the wisps of black hair away from my eyes, "best sex I've ever had or will ever have, hands down."

In my peripherals, I could tell that he had his own shit-eating grin on too.

"You weren't too bad yourself, Tucker," he admitted. "Definitely makes my top ten favorite nights, I'll tell you that for sure. I mean, number one probably has to be this one time when this luscious Latino lady–,"

I must have been wrinkling my nose unconsciously because suddenly he turned on one side, supported by his elbow and gave me a curiously smirking look.

"Wow, Craig, you seriously are gay," was all that he said after a long moment. Had I been younger, I undoubtedly would have bristled at the comment and said some very colorful things to him, but time had mellowed me out. Casually, I flipped him the bird, but as I turned to gauge his reaction, I noticed that Kenny was watching me expectantly, as if to explain myself.

"I just find most girls really annoying," I said simply, lacing my fingers behind my head nonchalantly as I traced the patterns of paint on my ceiling. "I mean, it's always something with them, you know? They never say what they mean, and half the time I think they just play their little mind games with you just because they're bored. And either they're faithful as hell, bordering on clingy, or they're a total slut, but if you treat them like a slut, they get all pissy. Ugh, and don't even get me started on PMS-ing."

Beside me, Kenny gave a stifled chuckle, trying – and failing – to cover it with the back of his hand. Yet again, instead of being angry, I was more passively inquisitive.

"I'm sorry, dude, really I am, it's just that I never pegged you as the type to like guys," he giggled.

"Well, ideally I'd find a girl who's fairly unemotionally attached, can fuck like you, and had a bit of a vindictive side."

"Sounds like you're into a dominatrix," he pointed out casually, his laughter now subsiding. I just shrugged half heartedly, my bare shoulder blades brushing against the supple fabric of my bed sheets. "Well, good luck finding a girl who is openly one. Can't say I've had any luck so far. Alright, Tucker, looks like my work here is done, so how 'bout I help you clean up a little and you make me a nice cup o' Joe?"

Disappointment ached in my heart but all good things must come to an end, I realized, swinging my legs over the edge of my mattress.

"Sounds good," I replied, tugging on a pair of discarded jeans. Fuck boxers. "Oh, and Ken?"

He turned slightly, now dressed in one of my pairs of pants as well, but they were a tad loose, hanging on his pronounced hips heedlessly and leaving the small line of darkened blonde hair exposed that trailed down to very familiar territory. I mentally took a picture.

"I don't suppose if I ever wanted to do this again…," my cheeks grew hot slightly as I tried to put out the question that had just begun to nag at me, "would it cost extra?"

Kenny laughed shaking his head as he said, "Craig, I believe I am out of your price range."

I tried not to look too surprised or taken aback as he brushed past me. The tall blonde then paused at the door, hand resting thoughtfully on the frame, his bare back expanding slowly as he inhaled deeply.

"…but I suppose I could always give you a little discount."

With that, he rounded the corner as I stood dumb-struck. Another shit-eating grin was not doubt splitting my face.

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**Author's After-thoughts: Alrighty! So Crenny fans, a litle bonus for you :) and don't worry readers, this wasn't a complete waste of time because Craig actually has a very important role to play with the rest of the plot. **

**So it took me actually a lot longer than I thought it would to write this chapter, but conversely, I wrote it while writing chapter 5 because I was going to have this be chapter 5 and the chapter 5 to be 6, but then I decided last minute that I wanted to trade up and that's pretty much my excuse. **

**But not the point. Mainly, how do you guys feel about this chapter? I was actually pretty disappointed by the last of response I got from my previous chapter but you know, you win some, you lose some, so I'm really crossing my fingers that you guys will like this one. XoXo~ Cutie Pie**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: Alrighty, next chapter is finally up! Geez, this one is pretty long too.**

**Happy 2011 everybody and I hope this chapter kicks off your year awsomely :)**

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White T-shirts and Green Converse

My name is Eric Theodore Cartman and I hate a lot of things, like hippies, Kyle, Jews, poor people, Kyle, idiots, waiting in line, Barbara Streisand, Kyle, Justin Bieber, Disney – really the list goes, and only ever seems to be expanding, yet I've been having to rethink one of those in particular.

Kyle Broflovski. An infuriating little ginger Jersey hybrid Jew. We fight almost constantly and it's no wonder why especially since he is everything that I am not. Anytime I see him, all I want is to cause him unimaginable pain; however I've saved his life on more than one occasion. To say I'm fond of him is a stretch, but to say that I'd hate him would be a lie. Simply put, he's my Jew – the one that only I'm allowed to make suffer, no one else, which really can be interpreted either way you look at it.

So how in the hell it is that I found myself _attracted_ to him is beyond even me. I guess it started with a change of perspective whilst we were fighting. Normally, when our fights would escalate far enough, I'd get the over-powering urge to hit him, but then one day, it seemed I had other plans. I mean, for crying out loud, he was shirtless – and was sporting a pretty hefty hard-on, might I add – how was I supposed to react?

And then when I saw him with Stan, well how was I supposed to pass up a chance to make the emo kid squirm and torture Jew-boy? Maybe I was being a tad…overdramatic, but still, if it was all in the name of agony for the kike, it was an opportunity that just could not be overlooked.

However, we get back to my place and Kyle ends up trying to jump my bones. Okay, so I may have been the one to start it, damn it, but yet again, he was right in my face with that look like he was about to admit defeat, which I'm now torn whether I actually want victory or just to prolong our fight. Whatever game he's playing at, I know that I can't lose, but then sometimes I question the rules.

For example, Kyle sits annoyingly close in my world history class, like one desk away, which I used to think was pretty sweet since I could send him dirty looks that he couldn't just simply ignore and send him little notes to aggravate him. Anyway, we were reviewing World War II and then the Jew raises his hand to ask a question, which of course is so typical.

"So, did all the Nazis carry whips?" he asked in fake innocence but then, as the teacher turns back to the board, sends me the most devious look I think I've ever seen from little Jew-two-shoes.

The teacher pulls out a few more diagrams of regular Nazi uniforms, most having a blunt leather whip – one of those kinds that you'd see a jockey with or someone in a sex video – and finally after much explaining of the use and means, gives Kyle the simple answer he'd been looking for:

"Yes, Mr. Broflovski."

"That's _so_ hot," I hear him mutter under his breath heatedly. I splutter in my seat silently, looking around to see if anyone else heard him too, but then I'm greeted with that same tauntingly flirtatious smirk of his that just drives me up a wall. And I have to sit there during the whole hour while Kyle continues to ask random, mildly perverted questions, but no else seems to notice. And anytime he'd get an answer, he'd shoot me that same suggestive look, occasionally accompanied by a lewd comment. It was provocative in so many different ways – I was straddling the line of being turned on or plain pissed off.

I know that he's enjoying this more than he should, mainly because I can't fight back unless we're outside of those damn classes and halls. Every now and again he catches me on my way out of school and gets in my truck without even asking. We start the normal banter as usual, but it lacks meaning behind it, they're just empty words as if we were reading a script. But once we pull into my driveway, everything changes.

We square off in my living room, pushing aside most of the furniture to make room, and then we fight. I don't know why, but it calms me down. After all the adrenaline subsides and the two of us are bloody and bruised, it's just me and him. But then there are times when Kyle is looking for a win, so he just peels off the top layer of clothing to reveal sculpted shoulders, lean abs, and that dark auburn line of hair that travels down from his navel before disappearing under the low riding hem of his jeans. I think it might be the only 'line' I actually do like waiting for.

Usually, those fights turn into something quite different.

"Bring it on, fat-boy," he sneers, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He's shirtless, again, and I find myself beginning to lose focus. Honestly, I don't know what it is about him, but I just feel a tug like I want to touch him, reminiscent of the desires I get to beat the shit out of him.

"Really, _Kahl_?" I draw out his name annoyingly long; he hates it when I do that. "I don't want to break your scrawny little bones with my hot bod'."

And then there's no more time for talking as he thrusts himself forward, not even trying to punch me but rather tackle, so I let him. We fall to the ground just a tangle of limbs as he struggles to pin me, but this never seems to go well for him due to my height and weight advantage. I end up straddling his hips, not even attempting to keep my full weight off of him as I push him forearms into the carpet roughly.

"Stop squirming," I growl, bringing my face closer to his. We haven't kissed since that one time but I'm pretty sure from the growing bugles in both of our jeans that Kyle wouldn't mind if we did it again. I'm centimeters away from his face and could count each one of those faint ginger freckles if I damn well pleased.

With a smirk, I released him from my clutches, standing over his wiry frame. Kyle looked kind of like a fish as he gapes at me and then purses his lips. All's fair though, and I think he realizes that I'm just playing along once again with this little game of ours. For once, I think I'm beginning to get the hang of it. We found a new and unique way to make one another suffer, turning this odd turmoil and chemistry into a war between us. I still loathe Kyle, but in a very different way than before.

Another change this new aspect of us brings about is him being on my mind almost constantly, which generally leaves me frustrated and hot. Even if he doesn't know it, Kyle is still torturing me without even actually being around me physically. Once more, I found myself staring into my open locker aimlessly, lost in my thoughts of strangling that smarmy Jew to even notice someone standing beside me, tapping their foot impatiently with loud clacks against the linoleum.

"Ahem."

I slammed my locker only to come face-to-face with a very pissy Wendy Testaburger, her dark eyes scanning me harshly.

"What took you so long, Wendy? Thought you'd have jumped me sooner for freaking out your pathetic little boyfriend," I cocked an eyebrow at her. "You must be losing your edge, huh?"

"You better back the fuck off him," she snapped, always so quick to the point, "and I don't just mean Stan, you shit-munching lard."

"Come again?" I asked, tilting my head. "You know, I was sure that you were just _threatening me_ _over Kyle_. Not a wise move, Wendy, considering he hates your guts for oh, what was that again? Right, that's it, breaking up him and Stan, who've been friends or longer than you've been a total whore. Yeah, that's right; it's just been that fucking long."

Her cheeks turned a deep shade of humiliation and I have to say, I impressed myself just then, not that it was that hard, considering I did amazing shit all the time, but that had to be one of my best performances yet.

"Don't make me kick your ass, fat-so," she snarled, her petite little lips drawing back to expose her pearly white teeth as the rest of her face transformed into a scowl. As we continue to stare each other down, I can't help but wonder vaguely why she gave a damn about Kyle's sake, unless it really was just Stan trying to check up on him through her, but then why come to me? Unless he somehow actually knew what was going on behind closed doors. But that little stunt Kyle and I pulled in front of him couldn't have possibly made him believe that something was seriously happening, could it?

There's a flash of movement, so fast I almost didn't catch it, but Wendy's fist comes barreling in at me, as if her explosive temper got the best of her. In another moment, that might've been me striking her, if of course Kyle hadn't been distracting me again. I silently cursed him.

Without batting an eye, I intercepted the brunette's fist with ease. Surprisingly, my little skirmishes with Kyle have been paying off, however Wendy was a lot faster, which didn't come as a big surprise considering she was like number one of the co-ed boxing team. Her face was priceless as my fingers gripping around her slight hand, holding onto her just a little longer.

"You know, I'm not that same little fat kid from elementary school, Wendy," I said darkly as I applied a little more pressure to her hand, feeling satisfaction as a pained look crossed her otherwise ferocious features. I let go, letting my own arm fall back to my side as I craned my neck down over her, practically hunching my back to bring our faces closer together. Again, I was struck by the thought of Kyle as I realized had he been in her place there would have a nice little tingle of wicked pleasure, but with her I felt nothing, perhaps disgust or plain disdain, but no heart-pounding, rage-inducing, shattering desire.

"Looks like it'd be a pretty fair fight then, huh?" she sneered, crossing her arms impassively. I had to give her props. If anyone in this school could beat me up it would be her, obviously. Ever since I grew quite a good few feet and turned most of that fat into muscle, I outweighed and outmatched nearly everyone, but I got the feeling that my 'advantages' wouldn't help in a fight against her.

We exchange another dark glare with one another before taking off in different directions. With the school day being over, I vaguely wonder whether or not Kyle will be joining me for an extra 'play date' as I meander towards my truck, but I don't wait long to find out.

A pair of beat up, green converse shoes was sticking out of the bed of my car, leaning against its cold metal sides. I'd recognize those from anywhere and unconsciously, I feel a bubble of excitement well up in my chest. As I drew closer, I saw the Jew splayed out, his arms behind his head as his eyes scanned the overcast sky.

"Hey, Cartman," he greeted me in a monotone voice. I cross my arms over the edge of the siding, right next to Kyle's gum-bitten shoes, as I stare down at him. If I didn't know any better, Kyle was having a crappy day, probably having something to do with one of our screw-up friends but in all fairness, it was probably something having to do with Stan. Genuinely I feel a little bit of irritation arise from picturing those two bickering, something that might've been classified as jealousy but I cut off my thought before I could finish it.

"Rough day?" I assumed, quirking an eyebrow back at him. Then Kyle looks at me with those dark green eyes – starkly the same color as his shoes and looking just as worn down – and I can't help but ponder if our game has been taking its proper toll.

Sighing, he directs his gaze back up to the sky, lazily glancing around at the heavy rain clouds before replying morosely, "Yeah, it was."

I want to ask what's wrong, but the fact that neither of us are friends stops me – that and the fact that if even if I don't ask, he'll probably end up spilling his guts anyhow. So I stay silent, just watching him breathe patiently. Up…down…up and then back down with a particularly heavy sigh. I can practically see the gears turning behind those expressive eyes as he mulls over something very important.

"Did you skip your last period?" This suddenly comes to mind, seeing as he was already in my truck when I got out here, though Wendy did delay me, besides, I doubted the Jew even had the balls.

"Yeah…," he trails off, staring back at me again as if to check my reaction, which of course is a smug smirk.

"I see. Looks like I _am_ rubbing off on you, Jew-rat."

"You usually do a hell of a lot more than just rub," he quirks an eyebrow at me, this time leaving me speechless as a bit of heat climbs up my neck and face. Again with the lewd comments – he seriously has to stop making that a habit, but it brings a smile to his otherwise emotionless face as he settles back down again, looking just plain content. I let the comment slide, not knowing exactly what else to say and continue with my observation.

When did Kyle get so tall? Not that he's taller than me, but he's damn close to my height. It seemed like just a few years ago I had a good foot on the Jew, but nowadays he's threatening to be even taller than I am. I then slowly begin to wonder when exactly he began to change too – it's as if he's more at peace, willing to let things happen as they will. Normally Kyle would have been freaking out about Stan and even more so about being so 'casual' with me, and skipping a class? Out of the question for old Kyle.

"What?" said Jew asks defensively, once again propping himself up on his elbows as he eyes me suspiciously. God, that look made my skin tingle with delight.

"Just wondering when you changed so much," I replied, surprising not him but also myself with my own blunt honesty. Kyle's cheeks turned red as he went back to avoiding my eyes.

"I didn't, fatass," he sighed. "The only thing that's different now is that I can finally be myself around someone even if that person has to be you."

At first, I don't understand.

"Jew, dude, what the fuck?"

His cheeks light up red like a Christmas tree but after a long moment of more silence, I know that he isn't going to elaborate so I don't press the issue. Don't get me wrong, on any other day I would have bothered him, pestered him, and teased him until he was ready to explode with anger but…he was having a bad day after all, and somehow I just didn't feel like it. Kyle seems to pick up on this instantly, like the damn nosey Jew mind-reader he is.

"What? No comments?"

I clear my throat, fishing around for my keys in my pockets in an attempt to look preoccupied but I know damn well that he just isn't buying it. Unlocking my truck, I reach inside and begin to reach around blindly until my fingers brush against soft flannel material. Kyle looks minutely interested but doesn't ask anything as I retrieve a thick plaid blanket, bringing it back around to him.

"Just keep your head down, Jew," I said a little gruffly, not making eye contact as I tossed the cover at him.

"Kidnapping me? How did you know?"

This draws my attention. "Know what?"

He gives me that dirty look and I realize too late that I've walked into another one of his crude comments.

"That kidnapping turns me on."

Kyle delivers his line perfectly, his face set and serious but I can see in his eyes by the way they almost seem to fucking glitter with delight from my obvious discomfort that he's trying hard not to laugh. This time, it isn't his comment that brings about the flush on my cheeks but something entirely new; Kyle enjoys my pain just as much as I enjoy his which suddenly is turning _me_ on.

"Shut up, asshole" I manage to mumble before getting in the driver's side, avoiding Kyle's triumphantly coy smile. Just for payback, I hit a few potholes along the way and am rewarded with a satisfying _thunk_ followed by loud cuss words and my name. When we reach my house, Kyle just glares darkly at me, blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he walks up to my door with me, which unsurprisingly swings open unlocked once he gives it a good kick.

He mutters something about me locking my door for safety or something but I brush it off, flopping down on my couch. Kyle may have been having a rough day, but that didn't make mine any better – well at least today it didn't. I look up at my ceiling, arms lying across the back of the sofa and legs splayed out uselessly before me.

"Oof!"

Kyle collapsed on me, his stomach across my mid-section and the rest of him sprawled out as well. It's my turn to glare at him for knocking the wind out of my but in return he just gives me an unapologetic look, to which I just dismiss. Kyle shifts around for a moment before rolling onto his back, so that his shoulders are pressing into my thighs and his head is angled backwards so all I can see is the underside of his chin.

We sit in silence, but then Kyle sighs and somehow, I just know what's coming next.

"Stan tried talking to me today."

"…," I say nothing.

"He was mad about me hanging out with you, obviously, and more than just a little disgusted." Kyle pauses thoughtfully, "I think he might just be jealous but I don't really know what's been going through his head lately."

"Did you ever think that he may have wanted to choose you over Wendy, Jew?" I frown, not wanting to have this conversation. "He's probably really fucking confused."

Now Kyle falls silent, mulling over what I just said.

"Would you be confused?" he asks quietly, so tentatively that his voice almost shakes. "I mean, if you and I were…good friends…and then we kissed, would you…?"

He acts like we didn't kiss, like this game hasn't been going on. This is suddenly getting too real for me.

"No way, Jew," I replied too loudly. He sits up to look at me and I take the opportunity to put distance between us. "I'm still amazed that you didn't poke my eye out with that big nose of yours when we…you know. Stan's just a gay pussy, but you two deserve each other. The bitchy kike and his emo asshole love slave. Besides, unlike the rest of my faggy friends, I still like chicks."

I force some laughter, trying to sound mean and genuinely insulting rather than our normal teasing tones, but Kyle doesn't respond right away. I can feel his stare even from the other side of the couch but resist the urge to look at him, instead just fixed straight ahead at my lifeless TV.

"Yeah, I'm so sure," he says sarcastically, suddenly getting to his feet. Kyle glances down at me and I swear, my heart turns to ice – his green eyes are holding a strange fury, a mix between regret and realization.

I open my mouth to say something but no words come forth.

His voice is filled with its usual venom as he says almost dismissively, "Well this was real fun _fatass_ but I have stuff to do. Catch you later."

As harmless as his goodbye sounds, it holds endless depth to me. Said Jew goes to storm out, crossing my living room in a few long strides but he hesitates at the door frame.

"And lock your fucking door," he snaps, shaking his head as the door slams shut behind him. All I can do is look at the place where he'd been standing just a second ago, stunned.

For what seems to be forever, I just sit and stare, waiting for him to come back inside, but it's obvious that he's already gone home.

Fatigue wins out and I find myself laying down on my sofa, wondering why I pissed him off so bad. I deftly begin to reach for something to put my head on when suddenly, my fingers brush against something soft. Curiously, I tug and find that the mystery item was a shirt, wadded up and stuck helplessly between the couch cushions. The more I stare at it, the more I begin to realize what it is.

Kyle's shirt, the one he'd taken off when this whole business started on that rainy after noon. It seemed like years ago. I slowly bring the white shirt to my face, screwing my eyes shut as I take a deep breath in, inhaling his smell – something like dead leaves and clean soap.

_Damn you, Jew_.

I fall asleep curled around his shirt, taking in breath after calming breath of a smell that I could never forget, even if I tried. My world fades to black.

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**Author's after-thoughts: woo, things are getting intense for Cartman and things are beginning to hit a little too close to home! Le gasp! Next chapter won't be up until next Saturday, in all likelyhood, and it might be from Wendy's POV or Kyle's. Or really anyone's. Hahah, I just can't decide XD**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Okay, so finally an update! I'm so thankful for all the reviews and such, plus all of the subscriptions and favs. In this chapter we get a little more insight into what's going down with Craig, and there's even a little surprise towards the end that I am probably going to get murdered over, so please enjoy.**

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Chapter 8: One of Those Days

I saw spots, clouding my vision with little pin-points of blinding white light as I hit the hardest orgasm I'd had in a very long time. Kenny rolled off of me and landed beside me, panting heavily and still shrouded in a veil of afterglow as he grinned cheekily over at me. I got to admit, the guy is like a drug.

Three weeks after our first encounter that fateful summer night and me getting an advance of my next three allowances; this is where I end up. Some might say it's a waste of money, but unless you'd actually been with Kenny, then you'd say otherwise. He's not cheap but he wasn't lying about that discount either, which does make it a little easier on my wallet.

Does it bother me that I'm paying someone for sex? No, not even in the slightest because this is the best way to have a relationship without all the messy, tangling strings. Take Stan, for example, who is hopelessly intertwined in Wendy's net – it makes sense that he tries to pry himself away from her with Kyle, I mean, I would too.

Kenny hopped out of bed, his back still dappled with little beads of sweat. So damn attractive. Initially, I think it bothers him that we've broken his 'never more than once' code, but damn it all, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. He's been taking the money without complaint, but I can tell I bother him somehow, like he's afraid I'm going to just chain him to a chair and never let him leave, which also doesn't sound like a bad idea. As if to get back at me, he purposefully will ignore me at school, even when I try to have just a conversation.

"I'm going to go now," he announced to me, stretching like a cat with his arched back. I try to look away and make it seem like I wasn't totally drooling over him. "The money on the coffee table?"

I nodded, swallowing the spit in my mouth to whet my drying throat, replying with, "Yeah, like usual."

Usual. The word makes me grimace. Kenny and I put on these 'oh-so normal' masks when we're around each other, not flirting, not making any sexual comments. It's hard to return to this normalcy all of the time, act like nothing has been going on, but as school progressed, I found it easier.

"Craig?"

Propping myself up on my elbows, I stared at the blue-eyed teen, his golden locks falling in front of his face is heavenly wisps. It was almost unreal how perfect he seemed, yet in the most imperfect way – slender hips, but broad shoulders stabilized by long, flat feet with lanky arms and legs that seemed to just hang limply, dangling. He was illuminated solely by the incandescent neon blue numbers of my digital clock on my bedside, making him look a bit like a zombie. I cracked a small smile at the thought.

"What is it, Kenny?" I finally asked, feeling satisfied with my inspection of his naked body.

"I was just wondering, other than mind-blowing sex, what are you getting out of this? I mean, you're wasting all of your money just to screw around with me, is that seriously what you want?"

Frowning, I got up from my bed. It only took a moment to locate my boxers – suddenly I didn't want to be this exposed in front of him.

"Yeah, it is," I murmured. "You know, we only have three hours until school starts…how about you just stay here? We could get up, get ready, and I could even take you by McDonald's, I know how much you love a good morning-after BigMac."

Kenny did not appreciate my sudden change in topics, but sue me if I didn't want to talk about why I liked being with the guy. Yeah, he was good looking and an even better lay – what else was there to talk about? If it meant spending money to do it with Kenny rather than jerking off to internet porn, then I was totally okay with it, and why wasn't he, especially if he was getting paid?

"Whatever dude," Kenny finally replied. I could practically hear him roll his eyes with that tone. "I can't anyway. You might forget sometimes, but even I have friends and a certain Jew-boy and a pussy both need me to walk their fine asses to school."

Sighing, I collapsed back on the down comforter and shifted to see, much to my disappointment, a semi-clothed Kenny McCormick as he shimmied into his jeans, blond hair swishing to and fro. It took him a moment to scrounge around for his shirt and parka but once he had those on, he's disappear again for god knows how long.

"Later," I called after his retreating form.

He didn't reply.

. . . . .

Tweek chatted incessantly.

Not that it was a bad thing, but I think sometimes he knew when he was rambling but just couldn't help himself, so he continued to talk. There was something about his voice that seemed to just smooth my thoughts over, glossing them out into just nothingness, even with its jumps and his random screams. So as I walked down the hall of yet another school day, Tweek was just talking – about what I'm never really sure, but hearing his shaky voice calmed my storm of underlying emotions.

I hadn't seen Kenny is almost two weeks; it was like he was avoiding me on purpose. After all of our little one-night stands, it was like he was getting uncomfortable with the way things were going. We saw each other nearly on a regular basis and he got paid pretty well too; just ask my diminishing bank account, so I didn't see what the problem was.

Just as we made our way to second period, I saw the mop of blonde hair at his locker. _Speak of the Devil_.

"I'll catch you later, Tweekers," I said offhandedly, abandoning my friend in the hallway who was left staring after me.

Casually, trying to be cool about it, I leaned against the metal door of the locker right beside Kenny's and shot him my winning smirk in hopes of catching him in a good mood today. His blue eyes glanced up at my before returning to the contents of his locker as he shuffled around a few text books and binders. His locker was surprisingly clean.

"What do you want, Craig?"

He asked me as if our nightly activities are the only thing that made me talk to him, as if everything was just business. I'm not sure how someone can be so formal when you've done some pretty damn lewd and downright _in_formal things together. Honestly, it's quite frustrating but I try to be cordial.

"What? I can't just come over to say hi or even just get a good look at your ass? How cold, McCormick," I blatantly flirt, looking up at him through my eyelashes. Kenny squirms under my scrutiny but doesn't make eye contact as he continues to just idly stare ahead.

I wait patiently for a response and Kenny does after a moment turn to face me, his mouth half open as if he's ready to tell me something.

"Hey, Ken! I was just thinking that tonight when you come over we could just…," Kyle Broflovski trails off, his gaze flickering between the two of us as he approached. I suddenly have the urge to punch the dumb Jew right in his giant nose for interrupting our moment, and I seem to be communicating this vibe pretty nicely because he just stops dead, hugging his books close to his chest. "Oh, hi Craig…uh am I…? Are you busy, Ken, 'cause I can talk to you later."

"Yeah," I sneer, "me and _Ken_ have some business to attend to, so just go to class, Brof."

All I get for my rude comment is a sharp elbow in the ribs from Kenny and Kyle telling me just to go and fuck myself. I almost retort by saying I could always pay Kenny to fuck me, but smartly, I bite my tongue.

"No, Kyle, I'm not busy at all," Kenny shot me a dark look. "Craig was just leaving, weren't you?"

"Not that I seem to remember."

"Okay…," Kyle takes a step back and Kenny takes a preemptive step toward his friend as if he's afraid the ginger kid will bolt any second, which of course it looks like he's ready to. "Well, I'll just see you later, Kenny."

Once the red head disappeared down the hallway and rounded a corner, Kenny whirled on me, looking angry and frustrated.

"Do you like sticking your nose in my business, you asshole?" he demanded.

"Actually, yes, yes I do. I love sticking my nose thoroughly into your business." My sexual innuendo was not wasted on him as his face contorts in exasperation. Kenny slammed his locker shut but doesn't yet make a move to walk away. That's my cue.

"Anyway, I was thinking that tonight you and I could have another little get together. My parents are gone and I'm pretty sure my bed is starting to get lonely, along with my coffee table, kitchen table, stairs, carpet, shower…you know," I gave him another teasing look but Kenny just grumbled something about me being a dick, which of course I was, but at this point I really didn't give a flying fuck.

"Fuck off, Craig. I have plans tonight anyway."

This perked my interest and mildly frustrated me as well.

"Cancel them."

"No, dude. It doesn't work that way, plus the guys and me have been planning this night for awhile. I have priorities, thank you very fucking much."

Kenny begins to walk away and I can tell his more than just a little ticked off at me, which is something that I don't want, though having angry sex might be fun…I shook my head. No, I needed to make this happen.

"Double," I croaked.

This stops the blonde right in his tracks, pausing to turn to glance at my from over his shoulder. "What?"

"I'll pay you double your regular fees without the discount."

Taking a few swift strides, Kenny closed the distance between us and put his face right in mine. His eyes scanned my own for any trace of deceit, but he wouldn't find any – I would give him all of college fund if that's what it took. Finally, Kenny just sighed and took a few healthy steps away from me.

"You're lucky that we've been planning this sleepover for awhile or I might've just taken you up on that offer, douche bag," he shook his head, getting a far off look in those cerulean eyes of his. With that, Kenny once again left me staring after him.

It seemed as though I was making this a very bad habit.

. . . . .

One weekend later, and I found myself in the middle of the most chaotic school day there'd ever been. Flyers of the resident gay couple kissing were everywhere, some even clinging to my locker. It's not like people wondered who did this, I mean there really was only one person who had the capacity and was close enough to the two.

So when I saw Cartman practically skipping down the fucking hallways, I was, to say the least, not surprised. Rumors spread through the halls like wildfire and Clyde, upon seeing the pictures, burst into tears because it was just too horrible for him to comprehend.

Given a week, the rumors only got worse, some being as bad as the four teens having a nasty four-way and others jut as harmless as them getting drunk, which was probably the truth in some respect. People laughed at the two, but then again people also laughed a bit at Kenny, though none really laughed at Cartman, just on principle that he'd probably turn around and get you back.

However, the one thing I was not expecting from this dumb prank was the backlash it caused.

Wendy broke up with Stan, or so it was rumored, because he actually was gay or Kyle. Then Stan broke up with Kyle because he really wanted to be with Wendy, or so it seemed. But that wasn't even the most shocking part about this whole fiasco – Kyle snapping and beating the ever-loving shit out of the fat-ass was.

Sure, Kyle's an angry dude and him and Cartman fought a lot when they were kids, but they'd never really _fought._ I was more than just a little stunned when Kyle kicked open the cafeteria doors and just started whaling on the Nazi. People cheered them on and most saw it as him finally being pushed over the edge, which also was more or less true.

Kenny, ever the good friend, pulled Kyle off of lard-o and just disappeared with him, all of the teachers too frightened to engage that raging ball of Jewish fury. Cartman then got up, dusted himself off, and held his bloody nose as he calmly walked out of the cafeteria. But normalcy returned.

It's not like the students of South Park High are unused to the radical fights between those four, but this one seemed to be the mother of all battles. Something was swelling in the air and ready to bust any second, but until then, the best thing any of us could do was wait and return to our lives.

Which is exactly what I tried to do.

The last bell of the day rang out loudly in the halls, and as I gathered up all of my shit from my desk, I realized that I'd left my hat on the teacher's desk, who'd confiscated it yet again. God I hated my English teacher.

The classroom appeared fairly deserted when I walked back in, having only just exited it. Sure enough, there was my hat sitting proudly on the abandoned desk of my teacher.

However, I noticed right away that Bebe and Kenny were standing in the back, talking quietly to one another. I watched silently as she handed him at least one hundred dollars in cash, which he pocketed happily. Once done, the busty blonde threw her arms around his neck.

"What the fuck?"

My voice sounded strange to my own ears as the two both jumped apart. I stood in the doorway, feeling an incredible rush of emotions.

Bebe and Kenny. Her paying him. Which of course meant that Bebe cheating on Clyde, one of my best friends, with Kenny, the guy I was paying to screw, was true. All along, I'd known that I wasn't Kenny's only customer, but the realization only truly hit home in that moment.

"It's not…shit, Craig, I know what you're thinking but…," Bebe stifled the rest of her sentence by biting her plump pink lip. I guess the angry flush that was spreading across my face was becoming very apparent.

I didn't know who to be mad at, them or myself. I mean, Jesus I was such a dick. Bebe was with Kenny behind my best friend's back and instead of trying to find that out, I slept with Kenny!

Honestly, I didn't know what else to say. Turning on my heel, I fled down the hall. My eyes felt hot and itchy as tears began to well up as I wiped them away angrily. This was absolutely no time to be crying, but the turmoil inside me was just too great.

Recklessly I pushed through the throng of students, but then noticed the hat I was clutching tightly in my hand. I crammed that down on my head in an attempt to hide my crying rage. Somewhere behind me, I heard some one yelling my name after me, but I was too busy just trying to escape to even really notice.

That is until a very firm hand clamped around my wrist and tugged me back into the chest of a very pissy Stan Marsh. Not good.

At this point, tears were streaming down my face uncontrollably, dripping down my neck and falling to the floor. We were making a nice rift in the traffic of students. I felt my heart plummet into my stomach as I stared into his blank face.

"Fuck you, Stan."

I broke from his slackening grasp and tossed him a stiff middle finger over my shoulder before diving back into the crowd and keeping my head down. The last thing I wanted for someone else to recognize me and start asking questions that I had no answers to.

Once I reached the school gates, I practically sprinted over to the gym, trying to find anywhere that I can be alone, just for one second.

Sinking my teeth into my forearm, I scream. My cry comes out muffled between my jacket and my jaws, but I continue to shriek aimlessly until my lungs are burning from exertion and I have nothing left. Panting but still no better, I slam my fist against the wall, wincing as I heard the distinctive crunch on my hand and the stucco siding.

I bite back another shout of pain.

"You know, you could have just broken a few bones."

Standing beside me, clad in small black mesh shorts and a sports bra with a towel draped around her shoulders, is Wendy Testaburger. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail, though some stubborn strands had fallen out and framed her face delicately.

"But with a right hook like that, I'd say you're a shoo-in for the boxing team." Her dark eyes dance back at me.

"Do not patronize me," I grumbled, trying to hide my tear streaked face, but she already saw it obviously and at this point was doing little to comfort me.

"I'm not," she held her hands up in surrender, "but I also know that you're not about to tell me about it, so why bother in making you feel better?"

Shooting her a withering look, I snap, "Screw you, Wendy, I'm having a shit day and the last thing I need is to take crap from some dumb bitch like you. Fuck off."

Okay, that was a little harsh – alright, way harsh, but once again Wendy surprised me by keeping her cool. Maybe I pissed her off a little bit but she doesn't let it show, however she also doesn't waste time trying to be compassionate with me.

"Fine, but how about instead of you taking out your anger on our gymnasium, you come work out with me? The rest of the team went home because there isn't any practice today, but I wanted to train for a little bit on my own, though it would be nice to have a sparing partner," she offered me with a half-hearted shrug.

For a moment, I stare back at her in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yeah, like I said, shoo-in for the team," she said flippantly.

"…doesn't mean I want to cut all ties with you!" The sound of Stan shouting interrupted the oddly civil moment Wendy and I were having. Sure enough, her jock boyfriend comes chasing after Kyle who's storming off out the school gates and into the parking lot. They make it that far before launching into another back and forth.

"For best friends, those guys sure fight like cats and dogs," I murmured, but I catch the strangely regretful look on Wendy's face.

"Yeah, but no matter what they always seem to get over it, like their fights are nothing and that each would swallow their pride just to set everything right. Sometimes I wish Stan loved me as much as he loves Kyle."

I don't know how to respond to Wendy's personal response, so I don't say anything at all. We watch the two yell, hearing nothing more than the occasional word but then things get kicked up a notch when Cartman approaches from behind. He and Kyle share an oddly flirtatious encounter, leaving Stan pale and looking ready to barf. This is not going to go well.

Finally, Cartman leads Kyle away who doesn't put up much of a fight against his supposed enemy and Stan calls out once, but ultimately is left alone. The quarterback lurched, his hand flying to his face as he tried to seal off the puke that was no doubt about to surface.

As Stan begins to run in our direction, I pull Wendy behind the corner as rushes by without noticing us. The shorter sighs and begins to walk after him, but before she gets too far ahead of me, pauses. In the background, I can hear Stan vomiting violently.

"Here," she tosses me a set of keys which I fumble to catch, "these are the keys to weight room. I need to go take Stan home but I'll be right back."

Wendy's black pony tail bobs around the corner and out of sight, so I don't bother to wait around and instead head off to the facility. I open the metal door with her keys, and let it slam shut loudly behind me, successfully closing off all sound to the outside world.

The room is dark at first but as my eyes adjust, I see it's softly lit by the windows high on one of the walls that spill the unused afternoon light onto the concrete floors. A smell of plastic and cleaning supplies hang in the air, disguising the underlying scent of sweat like day old fried chicken. It's not necessarily pleasant, but it's not unbearable either. Deeming this room warm enough, I slid my jacket off along with my hat, also abandoning my shoes just for good measure.

My eyes land upon a suspended bag of foam, one of those large cylinders with the fake leather skin that you see typically in any boxing movie, and I realize that I found a good outlet. This time when I slam my fist down, there's the comfortable feeling of my hand not breaking and also the soft surface giving way slightly underneath with a dull _thup._

_Womp womp womp._ I bury my fists repeatedly, laying to the piece of equipment like there's no tomorrow until I'm sweating and tired. Every time I punch, I picture Kenny's smirking face, Bebe throwing her arms around him, Clyde drunkenly smiling up at me, and occasionally my own face reflected apathetically. I'm so infuriated by the situation that I can't even express it into words, so I settle for pounding the shit out of this thing.

"You know, I wasn't kidding about my offer to join the team."

I nearly yelp in surprise as Wendy walks over to me; I didn't even hear her come in since I was so focused on just pounding on this thing. She tossed me a towel which I gladly receive and begin to wipe away at the sweat now accumulating on my brow.

"Yeah, I'd have to think about it, though this is a nice way to vent your emotions," I replied thoughtfully, shifting my attention from the fuzzy white cloth in my hands back to the student body president. She watched me for a moment.

"Come here, and I can teach how to really box."

I do as she says, following her over to an elevated ring in the back. She jumps up and waits patiently for me before falling into a fighting stance. Admittedly, Wendy looks formidable, what with her lean body and bandaged fists , especially when she's eyeing me like I'm a mouse and she's the cat.

"To get a feel for you skills, I want you to just try and fight me as best as you can and then we can work on your form and technique, alright?" she asks, arching one of her thinly plucked eyebrows back at me. I can only nod solemnly.

Go time.

Wendy dashes in quickly, plowing her fist right for my nose, but luckily I dodge her assault and even drive her back by aiming for her ribs. Going on the offensive, I move to strike her down but am caught off guard as she holds her ground and simply blocks my attack like it's nothing. She buries her knuckles into my stomach, but I grasp her wrist, twisting in at an awkward angle, though not hard enough to really hurt her.

Noticing my obvious hesitation, Wendy ducks away from me and rapidly kicks my feet out from underneath me. For a moment, gravity stills, but then the floor comes rushing up to greet me. Wendy tried to hold me down in a head lock, but I manage to wriggle away, though she doesn't waste time in pouncing on me. We end up rolling across the padded floor of the ring until finally I gain the upper hand.

I straddle the smaller girl, pinning her legs down with my own, but just then it dawn on me where my hand is resting. Wendy looks at her very firmly cupped boob with wide eyes and I feel my own face begin to grow hot as I instantly jolt backwards.

"I-I didn't mean – fuck…uhm, sorry…really," I apologize. My heart is racing and my whole body is tingling. No other girl has ever had this kind of effect on me, especially since I don't like almost every single girl, but somehow Wendy is different. She's domineering and less of a bitch then I guess I originally assumed.

"Craig, it's alright," she says slowly, getting to her feet as she starts to take a step toward me. A chill runs up and then back down my spine. My head is spinning and I feel on the verge of passing out, though I still feel electrified. Her presence suddenly has me feeling flustered in a very confusing way, and with her not being a guy and not being Kenny, this is more than just a little disturbing.

I don't even say goodbye as I dart for the door. Today was just one of those days.

* * *

**Author's Note: Ta-dah! Has there ever even been a CraigxWendy? Crendy? Waig? As always, please review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Happy Un-Birthday readers, you got your update like 4 days early!**

**Alrighty, so this one actually took me a lot longer write because I really couldn't decide what POV I wanted it to be in. *Sighs* This becomes quite the problem, like you wouldn't believe. So, this chapter, I went with Kenny, seeing as he's fairly unbiased in the whole scandal and just wants things to be normal. Or as normal as can be ;)**

**I didn't really want to make this a long A/n but I had a few issues to adress. 1) Thanks for all the super nice reviews and all of the favs and alerts 2) it means a lot 3) I've probably mentioned this before, but no pairings are really set yet in my mind, though I am leaning toward a couple so any suggestions are open 4) if you've got an idea that you'd like to read but don't really want to take the time to write (trust me, I have those all the time) then send me a message and I'll see what I can do because I'd always take requests and finally 5) don't be afraid to PM me because I totally like comparing notes with other people on what they think :)**

**Thanks for the support. So, do enjoy this chapter and if you find the time, review, s'il vous plait.**

Chapter 9: Party Down

"I can't believe him, what an ass!"

_Crash!_

"What a complete and total dick move!"

_Whack!_

"Ouch, Jesus Christ that fucking hurt…but god damn Cartman, I could just…Argh!"

My mom's glass plates (the only ones we ever had but never use anyway) shattered against the concrete of my driveway. I don't know who – scratch that, it was obviously Cartman – but I don't know what the fuck he did that pissed the Jew off so bad. He's turned into a raging Jersey asshole, his voice even slightly tainted with the accent. I arched my eyebrows at his heaving back. He must be really pissed off.

"Easy, champ," I took the teacup out of his clenched fist and sat it back down on the wobbly picnic table of my side-yard.

"Fuck, I could ring his fat neck!" Kyle rings his hands together tensely before glancing back at me. "Can I have one more?"

Shooting the tea set a sympathetic look, I handed the ginger one of the large serving plates that was only collecting dust in the confines of our garage. The tea pot and I continued to watch the genocide with placid expressions, watching in dull horror as he brings the glass down over his head and releasing just as it explodes into thousands of shimmery little fragments onto the ground.

His hands are cut, bleeding a little from all of the shards, but he doesn't even seem to notice, panting from exhaustion but I can tell that his anger is still there, only growing if anything.

"'Sure Kyle, you can come into my house'," I said to him a falsely cheerful voice. "'Break all of my shit, you say? Well gee, that sounds awful destructive'."

"Hey," he protested, "you were the one who handed me the box of breakables. Besides, not like you were going to use this shit for anything useful, right?"

"Well, I was supposed to clean out the garage, not break all of our _only_ set of dishes, dick wad, but no, I suppose you did put all of this shit to better use than any of my family could – in truth, I was just going to move all of that crap up to the attic anyway. It's cool, dude, just promise me that's all of the shit you're going to smash because I think my parents would start to notice a large pile of broken crap accumulating in front of our house."

Kyle just smirked back at me as he retorted with, "I doubt that."

"Touché."

He sighed, shoulders sagging pathetically. Following my gut, I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arm around his shoulders, glad to be tallest one of us two. I felt bad for the kid, especially since he was having to deal with all kinds of shit on his own. With my arm still around him, we began to make our way on the familiar trail to Stark's Pond.

"Kenny, I'm sorry," he finally apologized, cheeks tinting a soft pink color. Damn, he was just so adorable sometimes. "Look, I don't want to just unload all of my shit on you…but well with all of the crap going on with Stan…"

"'s cool, man," I smiled brightly back at him in hopes of coaxing out some sort of a grin. "Come sit and tell dear Kenny what's been on your mind."

We loped toward the shore of the lake and sat down side-by-side in the tall grass just before the ground changed to sand and sloped into the fringe of the gray blue waters. The gentle waves lapped at the pale beach, toppling stones and smoothing them down into black ovals. I snatched one of the flat stones nearby and skipped it out across the lake, sending ripples out across the smooth glass-like surface.

"Cartman's just being a douche…and I just…well before he and I seemed like we were getting along so well, but now, I don't know. It's like he can't stand the fact that he might not totally hate me or something. And don't even get me started on Stan," the Jew sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest until all he was just a ball of orange and green. I patted the top of his trapper hat affectionately, trying to give him any form of solace I could offer that didn't involve sexing him up.

Thinking of Cartman though brought a sour taste into my mouth. He and I were friends at strange times, but I'd made it pretty damn clear that he couldn't fuck with Kyle without getting some serious repercussions from me. And where Stan was concerned? God, he was such a fuck-up sometimes.

I glanced over at Kyle who had just barely lifted his head to where his forest-green eyes were scanning the gray expanse ahead of us emotionlessly. It was like he was slowly being drained from all of the drama at school, and personally, I could relate.

Craig had begun to creep me out. I mean, first of all, I don't do a double feature, or triple or even quadruple, but with Craig I was breaking all of my rules. He paid well enough, was one of the few clients I actually do enjoy, and even takes me out for McDonalds afterwards, but lately, he seemed obsessed. And then when he saw me with Bebe and blew a gasket? He was definitely starting to feel something that I would have to squelch before it went on for too long.

I needed a break. And a sigh from Kyle next to me told me he probably needed one too.

"You know, I heard Token's having a party tomorrow at his house," I said absently, letting my unvoiced offer stand.

"Why?"

"To celebrate the fact that's it Friday probably."

"That's not what I meant."

I looked back at my friend, "I know."

"Fine."

"You'll go?" I asked incredulously. It's not Kyle isn't a party person, it's just that he always has so much work to do, yet he seems to find, moreover make, time to attend a couple. Usually, I find him hammered on a couch arguing with a just as drunk, if not more so, Cartman or making out with some random chick. He gets around more than one might first assume.

Kyle waves me off, trying to look bored but I can tell he's glad for the reprieve, "Sure, I'll go. What time is it again?"

"Sweet," I exclaimed a little too enthusiastically. I planned to make this one hell of a party for the both of us. "I'll pick you up at 9, okay? Oh, and I'll tell Token to hide all of his family's fine china, just in case."

All I get for my joke is a rough punch to my already bruised arm.

"Fuck you, Kenny."

"I love you too, Kyle."

. . . . .

"When you said 'pick up', I kind of assumed you were implying with a car."

I tucked my hands safely away into the pockets of my black zip-up, hood down thankfully. Ever since Kyle suggested I stop wearing my hood up around my face all the time, I realized that letting people actually see my face isn't too bad, especially since girls go crazy for me.

"Stop your bitching – it's only a ten minute walk from your house to Token's place and besides, do you honestly think I could afford a car?"

Kyle looked nice in his dark green button up and worn jeans, especially without his hat on, letting his wavy hair out. It wasn't as bad as it used to be, and I personally found his hair to be one of his best features, despite what everyone else said about the Jew fro.

Sure enough, within a few moments, Token's gigantic mansion came into view; we could already feel the pulsating beat from the music that was undoubtedly blaring inside. People wandered inside, carrying with them kegs to wine bottles alike – all alcohol is welcomed in my book. Kyle's hand was suddenly around my forearm as he clutched on tightly, an odd gesture from someone as bold as him.

I turned to face him with a questioning gaze.

"If I get really messed up in there," he took a deep breath, "please promise me that you won't let me go crash at Butter's, no matter what."

Shaking my head, I tugged him into the party with me as I tried and failed to conceal my sarcastically exasperated grin. Tonight was going to be one hell of a blast.

As soon as we got inside, Kyle and I hesitantly parted ways, both realizing that we had different agendas for this get-together.

Wall to wall, the mansion was packed full of people, the center acting as a dance floor while people gathered in small groups around different stations of alcohol. I was mildly surprised by how casual this all was what without a caterer or even a bartender. No, it was a bring-your-own booze party, but boy did people bring. Over in a corner, Clyde was holding Tweek's ankles as they prepared for a keg stand and I even saw Wendy and Bebe taking shots of whiskey nearby.

I turned my attention back to the wriggling mass of half-drunk party goers. The beat of the music pounded in my veins and god how it made me feel alive.

As corny as it may seem, I lived for parties, even more so when they involved some form of dancing. There was something so alluring about the bump and grind of other bodies as everyone seemed to move as one living thing.

Overhead, lasers spun and twirled and painted the dancers various shades and hues – one of the latest installments in the Black household, obviously. Suddenly, the tempo changed as the song blended into another throbbing techno mix, this one calling me to the dance floor. My limbs seemed to move of their own accord, drawing me in as if the dance floor has its own gravity, and I obediently obliged.

I pushed my way nearer to the center in hopes of getting closer to the base that was rebounding in my ribcage. Arching and letting my muscles go slack, I let myself fall into time with everyone else, placing my large hands on the slim waist of the unknown girl in front of me. She didn't even spare me a second glance but kept on dancing hypnotically as her waist length hair swished back and forth tantalizingly.

Suddenly, I felt hands from behind as someone grinded up closely against my ass, not that I minded but I was simply curious. I turned in the mystery man's grip only to find myself staring into dark blue eyes that glittered back at me.

"Craig," I croaked, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. No matter what, I could not tear my gaze away from those eyes.

"What? No dude, it's me."

I blinked once and the fog in my mind's eye cleared, allowing me to finally take in the whole picture of Stan Marsh, standing there in his ripped jeans and gray t-shirt while holding a margarita casually in a clear plastic cup. He had in his other hand what looked to be coke and rum mixed together, but before I could ask, it was being pushed out toward me.

"Sorry," I mumbled, staring into my rippling reflection from the drink. Stan hadn't heard me over the blaring music but instead began to drag me out of the chaotic mess by my arm until we reached an area significantly quieter in the next room over. A few couples were making out on the couches and others were drunkenly laughing and daring others to take more drinks. It was an alcohol-palooza.

"So, did you bring Kyle with you?" Stan asked, taking a long gulp of his beverage.

"What's in this?" I asked, avoiding his question skillfully before I brought my own drink to my lips. "For all I know, someone could be trying to date-rape me." I sent Stan a pointed look which he just brushed off.

"Fuck you, dick, and just drink it – it's good for you."

Not needing any more encouragement, I downed half the glass, feeling the burn of the rum as it scorched its way down the back of my throat, only being intensified by the explosion of flavor that the Pepsi packed in. I moaned, licking my lips dramatically.

"Roofied or not, this tastes like heaven," I smiled back at my friend before downing the rest of my glass. The alcohol made my skin tingle and send pleasantly warm shivers down my spine. Already, I could feel the tendrils of a buzz growing in the back of my mind.

"Come on, Kenny," Stan pouted. "Did you bring him?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in such a knot, Marsh," I said, suddenly sounding a bit like Cartman. "Though, I don't really know where he is at the moment. Once we got inside, Kyle just kind of wandered off – it seemed like he was oddly driven, you know? Like when he sets out to do something and gets that look on his face where you know you can't talk him out of it?"

Stan just nodded understandingly back at me from over the rim of his cup. Sometimes it seemed like we all just knew each other too well, even for our own good.

"I don't suppose you know what set him off…?" Stan ventured.

"Something about Cartman, obviously," I frowned, "and he also didn't seem too happy with you. Try talking to him again?"

"Yesterday, but then he ran off in the middle of lunch and I think that he ditched the rest of his afternoon classes."

"Ah, well I don't think he's so much mad at you rather than just frustrated. And where Cartman's concerned, God I don't even want to take a guess. So much shit has been going on between them recently, but I can't for the life of me figure it out. Whatever it is though, it has Kyle more on edge and riled up than I've seen in a long time."

We spared a moment of silence, both sharing so many different thoughts.

"Well anyway," I continued more lightheartedly, "enjoy the rest of the party, get it on with Wendy, whatever."

Before Stan could interrogate me about anything else, I slipped back out into the main room where it was so loud I could barely hear myself think. The thought of dancing again seemed less appealing that it did when I first showed up, so I made my way around the dance floor in hopes of finding something fun to do, or maybe just someone.

I made it to a small alcove in the wall where there was a large red couch with two people stretched out on it, making out heatedly. I began to walk away again, not sparing much interest, but then I glimpsed the swatch of red hair underneath the blonde bimbo and boobs. But before I could even make a move to mess with Kyle by congratulating him on not being gay (just for laughs of course) I was beat to it.

A raging Cartman yanked the girl off of our ginger friend none too gently, his dark eyes even in the dim lighting blazing with fury. As a third-party person watching this all happen, it felt surreal. The scantily clad girl began to argue with Cartman but he just had to give her one good glare which sent her tromping away in her way-too-high heels.

In hopes of catching some snippets of their conversation, I scooted closer, ducking behind a few unsuspecting people.

"…the fuck, Jew?" came Cartman's angry accusation. He was standing over Kyle who'd now sat himself up, hair slightly askew from his, erm, previous activity, and shook his head.

Kyle's lips moved but to me it seemed as though no sound was coming out. Hi voice was drowned out momentarily by the thrumming of the base, but whatever he said, it sure pissed Cartman off.

Said fat-boy opened his mouth to yell something else but Kyle but cut him off, this time more loudly as his own anger grew.

"…not really up to you, is it?" I heard the Jew demand angrily, his cheeks flushed either from alcohol or his growing malice – most likely both.

In a flurry of movement, Cartman pinned Kyle up against the couch, one knee between his legs firmly as his large hands gripped his shoulders tightly. Their faces were inches apart and from my angle, I could see Cartman's half-lidded eyes full of lust and Kyle's so wide with confusion.

Kyle's lips moved deftly as he said something softly to Cartman who barely murmured a response.

At first, I thought maybe Cartman was just being a dick in proving a point, certainly not what it looked like, right? It was an impossibility that the tension practically lashing through the air could be tied with anything remotely sexual, right?

Wrong.

Clasping at the taller boy's collar, Kyle desperately smashes his lips up against his enemy's and kissed Cartman, who in turn returned the passion tenfold, raking his hands through the Jew fro he claimed so often to despise. All I could do was watch in horror as the two began kissing with tongue, Cartman's face contorting with pleasure and desire.

Though my pants felt too tight, my stomach had leapt up into my throat, leaving me with the sour taste of my own bile. Puke, or be turned on? A decision I never thought I'd have to seriously make.

But then Kyle shoved Cartman backwards forcefully, cutting their make-out session short. _Too short_. My hand flew to my mouth in hopes of stopping the vomit from coming back up. Before Cartman could even react, Kyle dashed away, disappearing out into the crowd of people without a trace.

And then the next thing I felt surprised me – it was neither perverted joy nor disgust, but rather hate, hate for Cartman for torturing Kyle, for making Kyle turn again Stan, for changing the natural order of things. Cartman was ruining everything. Everything that was happening came right back to Cartman and his stupid prank, that stupid stupid prank that stemmed from even stupider dare.

I pushed my way over to the fat-ass, feeling the anger boil my blood.

"You don't fucking listen, do you fatty?" I snarled, effectively making him turn around, eyes wide with his own personal shock. "I told you that if you fucked with Kyle you'd have to answer to me."

"Fuck you, Kenny," he sneered, turning back away to go follow after the Jew. Oh no, you're not getting off that easy, Eric.

Lunging, I gripped Cartman's shoulder and forcefully made him face me. Our eyes met and suddenly, my drawn back fist came smashing down into Cartman's cheek, I was having déjà vu. Only, I was pretty sure I'd seen Kyle do this same action only a few weeks prior, when things still made sense.

"God damn it, you poor shithead!" Cartman hollered at me over the music, bringing his arms down to break my hold on him. "He kissed me, in case you didn't see that part!"

That said, Cartman turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving me to stare after him dumbfounded. I replayed them kissing in my head again, and sure enough, it was Kyle who had initiated the kiss. But once again, things began to stop making sense. Cartman hated Kyle, Kyle hated Cartman, but what I just saw would make me beg to differ. Somewhere in my mind, I just wasn't making the connection.

For a moment, I just stood there, the people who had been observing our little fight losing interest and returning to the party. My arms hung limply at my sides as I stared down at my old beat-up converse – they were a pair Kyle had given me when he grew out of them but still fit me. I now had a sneaking suspicion that Kyle hadn't grown out of them at all, that he'd just…

A tap on my shoulder broke off wherever that thought was going. Deftly, I turned around in hopes of it maybe being Stan who could help me make some sense out of this situation, but no such luck.

Standing behind me was a very pissed looking Clyde, cracking his knuckled menacingly back at me.

"I'm going to kick your ass, douche," was about all the warning I got before Clyde's meaty fist came barreling in at me, sending the whole room into a white explosion of pain.

* * *

**Author's After-thoughts: Wow, so this chapter is surrpsingly short but jam pakced full of action. So, I have pretty much two choices for the next chapter that I've been trying to make heads or tail of. Do I make the next chapter in Clyde's POV? Or do I make it in Kyle's POV? Or or I could even do it in Cartman's POV? What should I do? Lol, for those of you south park fans who get my little ol' reference. **

**Anywhosie, if you guys like this chapter them please review because god knows I love em. Plus, it's nice to hear whether I'm doing something right or not, especially if there's something I can improve on. Thanks for reading (and hopefully reviewing). **


	10. Chapter 10

**Author**'**s Note: You've been demanding it, so here it is. Okay, so we have yet another chaper and I'm really happy about the positive feedback this has been getting.**

**Again, I'd like to thanks the people who review because seriously, with all of the all-nighters I pull working on this story just to make sure things flow seem worth it because of you guys. And don't get me wrong, I'm also really thankful to the people who fav and subscribe to an alert but for those of you who go the extra mile just to tell me how I'm doing and give some advice, or even just to tell me to update sooner, well you deserve the update so for those of you who do review, this chapter is dedicated you guys. Thanks a million, your kind words keep me going and also keep me from giving up on this story. **

**I hope all of you enjoy this next chapter of _Boundaries_.**

* * *

Chapter 10: Bimbos and Shot Glasses

I slammed my locker shut with a sense of finality before heading out to lunch. Today, I'd been dragging my feet more than usual and a small voice in the back of my mind was telling me that I had something of a Cartman-withdrawal, as weird as that may seem. Unable to vent my emotions onto the fat-ass, they'd just stayed bottled up.

The halls had emptied, leaving me to simply wander down the long corridor. From the cafeteria came the sounds of commotion, people laughing and talking, though the idea of going there and plastering on my big fake grin while pretending that everything was alright did not sound appealing. It never did.

In truth, I missed Stan but the spiteful part of me that held grudges wouldn't allow myself to go talk to him, or forgive him for that matter. Choosing Wendy over me stung, in fact it hurt, but then when I thought back to me picking Cartman over Stan, I imagined he was pretty upset.

_"Did you ever think that maybe he wanted choose you over Wendy?…I bet he's really fucking confused."_

Cartman's words had been ringing in my head constantly as I replayed our argument over and over again. But as all-consuming as that moment had been, I still couldn't forget about the fight that Stan and I had the very same day.

_"Kyle, wait!" _

_I turned back to see Stan jogging over to meet me in the hallway – we hadn't spoken ever since Cartman and I pulled that little stunt to freak him out. Blatantly ignoring him, I turned and kept on walking, eyes fixed straight ahead as I tried to be strong and not crack. God, I missed him._

_"Dude, I said to wait, didn't you hear me?" he asked, stopping me dead as his hand clamped down on my shoulder in a vice-like grip. No matter what, I kept my gaze on the ceiling, on the floor, my shoes, anywhere but his eyes._

_"Sorry, guess I didn't," I attempted to shrug him off, but by the way his hand tightened on me, I realized he wasn't about to let that happen._

_"I called your cell phone yesterday. You didn't answer." The statement was simple but it fell from his lips like a ton of bricks._

_"Sorry," I apologized insincerely again, biting the inside of my cheek nervously. "You know, if I want to get any lunch I better go get in line. They run out of food all the time and I bet Cartman's not going to let me crowd."_

_"Dude…"_

_"But you know how that is. Geez, this school needs better funding, am I right? Maybe they ought to have like a fundraiser or something that might turn up a little money, or fire those lazy ass janitors I always see sleeping in the classrooms, but then I suppose-,"_

_"Kyle!" Stan yanked me around to face him, his deep blue eyes searching my face frantically. Swallowing, I tore my gaze away from his, focusing back on my shoes in hopes of regaining some sort of resolve, anything to not break. I had to be strong and get over this, if for no one else's sake but my own._

_"A-anyway, I-I probably should be going-,"_

_"God damn it, look at me," he demanded, giving me a rough shake. His voice was quavering as if…as if – no, I mentally begged Abraham or whatever god up there that Stan would not start crying, that I would give anything just to get out of this situation. "Look at me!"_

_I complied hesitantly, meeting his icy gaze which stood out starkly against the watery bloodshot look his eyes were adopting. Stan Marsh, my ex-super best friend, was on the verge of tears and it was my fault. A stab of guilt penetrated my gut._

_"I'm sorry, Kyle," he whispered, voice cracking just slightly. "You need to forgive me because…because I can't keep pretending like I can live without you. I just…I don't expect you to understand…but I…I need you, and I'm pretty fucking sure that you need me just as bad."_

_"Well it's too late for that Stan!" I snarled, violently pushing him away from me. The hall steadily became deserted, the last stragglers finally making it to lunch. "I can't keep doing this either. You get with Wendy so you ignore me, and then when she breaks up with you, you come crying back to me for comfort or something. I'm not always at your beck and call and…," Cartman's words coming out of my mouth, "I'm sick of being your bitch 24/7 and you treating me like shit!"_

_"What the fuck, Kyle? You're my best friend…and I don't…," he trailed off, brows drawing together tightly. He shook his head, and said, "Why is it that I have to choose between you and Wendy anyway?"_

_"Because she thinks…," I faltered, my voice dropping back down, "because she thinks that you and I are much more than just friends, Stan."_

_Stan just stared at me, making no attempt to deny it. _

_"Well?" I demanded, my temper flaring back up._

_"Well what?" he shouted right back, his fists clenching and cheeks tinting a soft pink. _

_"Aren't you going to…?" I just couldn't force myself to finish that question. Stan just crossed his arms impassively, arching a dark eye brow back at me. "This is so fucked up, dude."_

_"Oh, like you haven't had a more than friendly thought about me, Kyle?" he rolled his eyes in response. This was unreal, impossible, and so not happening. _

_"No, I haven't, at least not seriously. If this is about what happened at your house…I was drunk, Stan! Jesus Christ, you didn't honestly think I was…?" my statement turned into a question. Those blue eyes remained on me, scanning me for anything, any trace of me lying, but I knew that he wouldn't find it._

_I loved Stan, yes, but not in the way that Cartman, Wendy and even him had or were implying. That kiss was just a bit of the bro-mance spilling over a tad, nothing that could have seriously led him to believe that I'd actually turned gay for him. Yet my mind wandered annoyingly to Cartman and our searing first kiss, one that I can't honestly say I'd like to repeat yet also wanted just as bad as he had. _

_"Un-fucking-believable," was all I could manage at that point. I turned and just walked away; officially unable to deal with the fact that Stan was pretty much confirming everyone's suspicions since fourth grade. _

_"Kyle! Kyle get your ass back here!"_

_Such an angry voice coming from him seemed so wrong, but before long, I found myself just sprinting away down the halls, running blindly away from Stan in hopes of putting as much distance between him and I as possible. When I made it out past the school gates, the first thing I saw was Cartman's truck and something deep told me to go there and wait for him._

"Hey, Jew-boy."

I turned at the familiar nickname, snapping my out of my momentary reflection. For a moment I thought it was the fat-ass looking for a sequel to yesterday's fairly pathetic fight, however I was met only with the mess of blonde hair with sea-blue eyes peeking out from behind.

_Oh right._ I'd almost forgotten about how I'd gone to Kenny's house afterwards to vent and ended up getting suckered into going to a party tonight. Not that I didn't enjoy a good party, but I also wasn't looking forward to a whole slew of drunken high-schoolers grinding up all over each other and pulling stupid idiotic pranks on those who'd passed out. Plus, I remembered vividly what happened the last time I got drunk.

"Hey, dude, what's up?" my voice came out sounding weary and Kenny noticed this with a slight arch of his blonde brows but didn't say anything about it.

"So, I was just checking in about the party business, you know," he said casually, tucking hands away into his pockets in a leisurely gesture.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll see you tonight, asshole."

Kenny bumped shoulders with me before we both started off for out next class, him draping one arm across my shoulders. It felt oddly nice having Kenny there with me, despite how much trouble he's inadvertently caused me. I was actually looking forward to tonight.

. . . . .

Music pounded, a bass so deep that it rebounded with every beat of my heart. My throat burned from all of the alcohol I'd taken in and the room seemed to be spinning - the strobe lights certainly weren't helping. People were gathered around me from where I was seated at a small bar, cheering as I took yet another shot of tequila like it was nothing.

An unknown partier poured him and me another drink; vaguely I could hear him toasting the glass to me which earned another round of cheers. Apparently I was the lie of this party.

Time seemed to skip as I alternated between dancing and cheering on other drinkers. I watched someone do a funnel-chug with one of the kegs and found myself attached to some girl who was just as wasted as me, clinging to my arm as she pressed her boobs up against me.

The world was spinning, becoming nothing but incomprehensible light, movement, and sound. Everything seemed funny, weightless, and faces blurred together, but before long, I found myself seated on a large plush couch, off to one side of the dance floor.

In my drunken state, I was mesmerized by the writhing, twisting bodies in front of me, feeling myself being turned on by the nameless dancers and their provocative gyrations. Hands slid across my shoulders, up my neck and to my hat, tugging it off in one swift motion to let my curls fall freely.

Lips collided hotly with my own, a tongue diving in and wrestling my tongue. My hands traced the smooth curves of a slim waist, slipping up under the soft fabric of a shirt to feel the friction between our skin. Deep blue eyes paralleled my own, framed by golden waves that came down past this girl's shoulder and landed perfectly upon the crest of her cleavage.

She straddled my hips, pressing herself up against my chest before reconnecting our mouths. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the logical part of me was telling me stop, telling me how wrong this was, but I was beyond caring.

Suddenly, with a jolt, cool air came rushing back over me as the warm body atop my own was torn off of me. My stomach dropped when I saw who was standing in front of me.

Arms crossed and eyes aflame with rage, Cartman looked ready to murder either me or the girl, most likely both. For a second, I really just looked at him, taking in his ripped and baggy jeans coupled with his usual red jacket, though it was opened to reveal the black shirt he wore underneath.

"Hey, what's your problem, dick?" she asked snippily. Mentally, I begged that the girl was smart enough to just shut her mouth and leave. However, one look from Cartman made her wither like a dying flower before stomping back off again, which of course left me alone with the fat-ass.

"What the fuck, Jew?" Cartman demanded loudly, taking a step toward me. I sat up, my hair falling back into my face which I vainly tried to push away.

"I should be asking you the same question," I shot back, my unbridled fury making me articulate through my intoxication. Over head, the music seemed too loud and now the couch seemed too soft – Cartman had that unique way of being able to ruin anything for me.

Once again, Cartman looked ready to start yelling, but I knew if I wanted anything to be said edgewise, I'd have to cut this off.

"I'm just trying to be less 'faggy', fat-ass. And you know, asshole, what I do in my spare time, well it really isn't up to you, is it?" I shouted, feeling my own anger boiling up to the surface. Where the fuck does Cartman get off on thinking that he can tell me what to do? Especially after he was such a dick to me.

With a snort of annoyance, I begin to push myself up from the loveseat, needing some distance between me and the Nazi bastard.

But then, within the blink of an eye, Cartman's knee was pressed up again my crotch, the other one clamped firmly down on the side of my leg while strong hands gripped my shoulders painfully, digging his fingers into my jacket with such vehemence. My muscles failed me as soon as I made contact with Cartman's burning gaze, so cold yet smoldering, finding it impossible to break away. It even seemed as though my voice was failing me,

"W-what do you want, Cartman?" It came out like something akin to a whisper. Even to me ears, I could my own pathetic desperation and fear.

He leaned forward until our noses almost touched, until I could see every last shard of amber in his hooded eyes. The world fell away into nonexistence. It was just me and him.

"_You_."

Such a simple reply to such a simple question.

A surge of passion and hate overcame me as I gripped helplessly as his collar, searching his eyes for anything, anything that could tell me he wanted otherwise. I knew Cartman wouldn't kiss me, that I would have to make the first move this time because if I didn't…it would be over.

Without a second though, I mashed our lips together spitefully, increasing the pressure between us until it hurt. Our teeth clacked roughly as I bit and lapped hungrily, urgently. Cartman kissed me back just as powerfully, his hands abandoned my shoulders to instead entangle themselves with my unruly locks, raking and pulling frantically. I needed this – my body ached and burned with a kind of desire I hadn't ever felt before. So much so that it actually scared me.

I pushed Cartman away, abruptly breaking off our kiss, and forcing myself to my feet. I couldn't handle this.

Before Cartman had a chance to grab me, to confuse me more than I already was, I ran, sprinted away as fast I could in hopes of maybe, just maybe putting some form of distance between us. There was no fucking way I could deal with this. No fucking way. I pushed past people recklessly, praying I could just get as far away as possible from Cartman before he came after me – and if that happened, I wasn't sure what I'd do.

After weaving my way through the throng of people, I found the back door, practically throwing myself outside. The alternating rainbow lights painted the snow different colors in the shape of the Black's mansion windows. I felt dizzy and sick, and after a quick glance around, also very alone. My head was reeling as I plopped down on the frozen ground, leaning myself up against the wooden slats of the side of the house.

Tears gathered at the corner of my eyes – tears of anger, of hurt, and of confusion. In my intoxicated mind, everything just seemed to be against me, as if the universe had some personal grudge to settle. And it certainly did seem that way. I mean, I lost my best friend, I'm becoming attracted to the worst human being on the planet, Kenny's no help and there isn't anyone I can turn to. I'd never felt more alone.

I pulled my knees up to my chest tightly, wrapping my arms around them and then burying my face to hide from everything. The music was muffled, making it sound like someone had just jammed a bunch of cotton into speakers. A sob, choked and painful, wracked my entire body, my hold torso shaking with the power of it.

"Kyle?"

Blinking away the tears, I glanced up into the darkness to see a form standing over me though I couldn't exactly see who it was. The person crouched down in front of me, blurry through the new flow of water from my eyes. Gently, they reached forward until chilled hands brushed away the drops rolling down my cheeks- my vision began to clear.

"S-Stan," I managed to say, my voice hoarse and strangled. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, pushing to continue with, "what are you doing here?"

The black-haired teen didn't respond, instead he collapsed down upon his knees in front of me and put his arms awkwardly around my shoulders in a hug. My face was up against my chest as Stan rested his lips upon the center of my forehead, sighing loudly as the air warmed my skin.

"Oh, Kyle," he said softly, pulling back just so, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. All I want now is for things to just go back to normal between us. And I know that you hate me, fine, but I also really hope that you've though about what I said before. Even if you don't need me, I still need you."

Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps the fact that I'd had a bit of a rough night – but it was probably neither. Despite how mad I'd been and despite how much it'd hurt, I still missed Stan, which had left a giant ache in my chest like a cut on the roof of your mouth that just never heals. I hugged my super best-friend back fiercely, balancing on my own knees as I sat up to hold him closer. Stan returned my embrace just as strong, both of us clinging to together as if we would disappear.

"I don't care anymore, Stan," I sighed, still not letting go of him. "I just…I'm sorry too."

Stan pulled back, a huge grin splitting his face while his hands clasped at my face, effectively pushing my cheeks together until I was puckering like a fish back at him. We kept each other's gaze for a long moment until finally Stan released me, ruffling my wild curls affectionately.

"Come on," he smiled, standing up and offering his hand to me.

I grabbed on without second thought and tried not to stumble once Stan hefted me up from my seat in the snow. Of course, my ass was soaked through to my boxers along with having two nice fist-sized spots of water on my knees.

Stan just grabbed at my hand, tugging me along insistently until finally I fell into step with him, our arms brushing as we walked close together.

"Does this mean that we're friends again?" I asked quietly, my breath coming out in small puffs. I directed my attention up at the endlessly dark blue sky as its scattered stars twinkled and winked back at me.

"Super best-friend," Stan corrected automatically, "and yeah, dude. It most certainly fucking does. We can talk about this later, that is if you want to just crash at my place tonight – I'm sure your parents would be cool with it; mine always are, when it's you at least."

He just sounded so damn hopeful.

"Cool with me," I said a little too enthusiastically. So much for playing it casual and all that jazz. Stan led the way back to his house through the snow, silently linking his arm through my own.

. . . . .

"Here."

Stan tossed me a pair of sweats from where he was crouched over his mess of a dresser drawer. I caught them in one hand, arching an eyebrow curiously at the soft black material. Catching my gaze, he explained that he doesn't want my wet ass in his clean sheets which is enough for me to start tugging off my pants.

"So…the party was fun," the raven haired teen attempts at conversation weakly, flopping down across his bed. I simply nod back at him from over my shoulder. "I mean, I'm glad you came because I really did want to talk to you. But you know…I was wondering…what was wrong?"

Deciding I would live with damp boxers, I slid the stretchy cotton material up over my legs, almost immediately warming me up.

"Nothing," I grunted as I started to unbutton my jacket.

"Okay, don't want to talk about it – I get it. But I gotta ask, what made you change your mind about forgiving me? Is it the alcohol, my fantastic charm…?" he trailed off as my coat hit the floor next to my jeans. All I had under that was a dress shirt – not ideally something I'd sleep in. I turned back around to face Stan, who at this point was shirtless, in similar sweats, and sprawled out across the rumpled sheets and bundled up comforter strewn chaotically across his queen-sized mattress. I tugged my own shirt up over my head, tossing it back at my own growing pile of clothes.

"Whoa dude! What are those?"

Stan's suddenly concerned voice made me look up to see the bewildered expression on his face as he searched my body with his eyes. _What was he…? Oh._

Sure enough, in the exact place where Cartman had grabbed me, there were nice hand-shaped bruises that were already turning an ugly blue-black color, a faded purple ring forming around the damaged skin. A sigh escaped my lips, my whole frame collapsing inward as I face-planted beside my friend.

"Can we not do this tonight?" I moaned into the mattress.

"Do what?" came his reply. Rolling on to one side, I faced Stan with a tired expression, my eye lids drooping with the desire for sleep. His sky blue eyes scanned my face, flickering his concentration from my own stare and the wound at the base of my neck.

"This; talk about everything and all of this shit. I promise I'll tell you all of it tomorrow…but for just right now, just for tonight, I need some rest. Please," I tried to smile but I knew it must've come out looking forced by the small grimace reflected in Stan's eyes. He blinked once in compliance, leaning across his bedside table momentarily to flick his bedroom lights off.

My eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness while my hands sought out a blanket to curl up with. Suddenly, warmth spread across the backside of my body along with a heavy flannel cover being tossed over my form. An arm snaked itself up and around my waist, pulling me firmly back against Stan's chest.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he beat me to it.

"Just for tonight," he used my words against me.

As sleep began to take over, the last thing I heard was Stan humming the song _Wonderwall._

* * *

**Author's After-Note: Okay, I'm sick, like really really sick with like the worst cold I've ever had so there probably will be more grammar mistakes than usual because I really really tried to focus and reread it but ugh, sinuses. I hope your reviews can cure me *cough cough* ;) Until next time ~**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author**'**s Note: Well, you've waited long and patiently for this chapter, so here it is. A little note about this, though most of you don't read it anyway, but I was actually really struggling over who to pick for this Pov. I mean, I went back and forth and back and forth on who I wanted, which is sort of why it took so freaking long to update. And also because honestly, I'm starting to lose my inspiration for this story, quite frankly. I know I've gotten loads of reviews and they are much appreciated, but I feel like I'm starting to lose steam on this.**

**Anyway, I'll keep this story going as long as I can because I have an idea of where I want this to go and how I want it to, so with hope I can make it there. Please enjoy this chapter of Boundaries.**

* * *

Chapter 11: Because That's What Best Friends Do

My name is Clyde Donovan and I hate crying – no matter if it's myself or anyone else, I hate tears. When people get that look one their face, yeah that one with the red eyes and all the sniffles, it just kills me and not because I necessarily feel bad for them but simply the fact that something about the thought of someone sobbing their eyes out makes me want to punch an infant. Really I'm such a hypocrite, but I hate it most when I look in the mirror to see my own sad face. That's the worst.

So, when I was fourteen and my parents got a divorce, I was sprouting water like a god damn sprinkler and no matter how much I tried, or how badly I wanted to stop, I continued to cry. The fateful day came, however, when I went to my friend Craig's house. I sobbed my eyes out into one of his pillows and he didn't even care, just put in the movie _Titanic_ like it was nothing.

We sat there, re-watching that god awful movie over and over again, and when his sister came in the living room to see me sobbing, Craig just told her that the fucking movie always made me cry, then promptly flipped her off.

From that moment on, I was Craig Tucker's best friend.

If you asked, most people at South Park High would probably assume that I was BFFs with Token as Craig was to Tweek, but then they'd also be dead wrong. Just because we don't parade our friendship around like resident butt-buddies, Stan and Kyle, doesn't mean that I don't seriously love that dude.

I guess one of the things that I admired about Craig was his stoicism – nothing rattled that guy. He could be in Peru, battling giant guinea pigs, and shooting lasers out of his eyes and still not give a shit, but that's just a silly example.

But then what's that old saying about expecting the unexpected?

Yeah, that shit gets annoying.

"Mr. Donovan!"

My eyes snapped up from staring down Craig's potently empty desk beside me in our shared chemistry class only to meet the angry glare my least favorite teacher, Ms. Fahtbeech, a stout woman with a head of wild black curls. With her snappish demeanor plus the way she talks, she kind of reminds me of a fat poodle who waddles around biting at people's ankles. My obvious lack of concern for her and this fucking class was written all over my face.

"Would you care to explain to the class what we learned today about ideal gases?" she barked, voice too high coming from a body so bloated.

"Oh, I'd love to Ms. _Fahtbeech_," I snorted right back, drawing out her name pointedly and thus earning a few chuckles from my classmates all seated around me. Stealing one glance at the clock, I took a moment to bide my time until finally the teacher opened her mouth to yell at me some more.

A loud ring of the school bell literally was my savior, as per usual. Without waiting for Ms. Fahtbeech to give me yet another detention, I darted out of class, successfully blending in with the hoard of students.

As I reached my locker to fish out my text books, I couldn't help but think about Craig's absence. It was a Tuesday, and Craig had already missed the Monday before, so I was already starting to miss that mean fucker. Chemistry class was so slow when I didn't have my friend to pass back little crude drawing of the Fahtbeech.

I pulled out my phone and tapped out a new text message to Craig in hopes of maybe he'd just invite me over even if he was sick. Scanning over my message, it read:

_- Dude, where r u ? chem sucked balls. _

Feeling satisfied with my message, I snatched the book I wanted out of my small metal locker, and slammed the door shut.

. . . . .

Wednesday and still no sign of life from Craig. I was starting to get worried, as gay as that sounds, but it wasn't like him to just ignore my zillions of calls and texts.

I'd tried calling him, and every time it would ring and ring and ring until finally just going to his voicemail, but then at about the sixth time I tried him, it went straight to voicemail – he'd turned his phone off. Each one of my texts had gone unanswered and at this point, I was pissed off.

So, when the end of the school day found me, I was speeding down the main road in my pick-up and headed to the Tuckers' residence like a bat out of hell. For whatever reason Craig had decided to ignore me, well I was going to find out.

I parked my truck next to Mr. Tucker's truck, smiling to myself absently as I remember the joke Craig and I would make about all of the red-neck trucks in this town and how South Park alone was keeping the American car companies alive. It only took a few quick strides to reach his front door, the green paint chipping from age. I rang the doorbell.

Expecting Craig to answer the door, I was more than just a little thrown off to see Mrs. Tucker, eyes red and puffy as if she's been crying awhile ago, standing in front of me. Her blonde hair hung in limp ringlets, looking dull and unkempt. Generally she was a pristine woman, wanting to keep things clean, which was quite paradoxical to her more than coarse language, but she was a good person none the less.

"Hi, sweetheart," she sniffled, "I'm sure you're here to see my dipshit of a son, but he's uh…well he's busy at the moment."

Mrs. Tucker began to shut the door, but I was quick to intercept my foot.

"I don't give a flying fuck what Craig is doing – I'm here to see him," I said back forcefully, swinging open the door as I entered her house. Mrs. Tucker didn't try to stop me, but rather burst out into pitiful sobs once I'd reached the base of their staircase.

"Craig locked himself in his room Sunday and hasn't come out since. He won't talk to me or his father anymore…and – and...I just…please, Clyde, c-can you…?" she choked off into more weeping, my skin crawling with every fat tear that rolled down her cheeks. I bounded up the stairs in hopes of putting distance between me and the hysterical Mrs. Tucker.

Sure enough, at the end of the hallway, Craig's door was shut, not something he usually did because normally I would drop in unannounced so he would leave his room open for me to just come in. Having it closed, it was worse than if he'd have flipped me off and told me to fuck myself. I had a bad feeling about whatever was on the other side of that plank of wood.

For a moment, to collect myself, I just stood there, staring at the door with my hand raised, poised to knock yet I just couldn't bring myself to do it yet. Whatever had happened to keep Craig from me was big and bad, something terrible enough to make him ignore me for days. To say the least, it was intimidating.

I brought my knuckles down on the hard wood, rapping against it rhythmically before drawing away to wait for a response.

_Please, please please_, I begged mentally to God or Jesus or Mary, hell even Buddha – whoever – that Craig would open the door and let me in, both literally and figuratively. I prayed that he wouldn't shut me out, prayed against all odds.

"Go the fuck away!" came his muffled response. His voice was hoarse and cracked, sounding almost defeated and as if he too had been…no, Craig doesn't cry. It was impossible.

"I…," words failed me. "It's me, Craig."

No response. There was the tell-tale sound of shuffling papers, the scrape of cardboard and the occasional clink of glass but he remained silent. I sighed loudly, my shoulders slumping from within my letterman's jacket as I plopped my backpack down against the neighboring wall.

"You haven't been to school in a few days, buddy," I cleared my throat, trying not to sound too concerned – Craig hated it when people worried and fretted over him. "And, it seemed like you lost your phone, so I figured I'd pay a personal visit. Chem has really been sucking without you and Mrs. Fahtbeech is well, being a fat bitch as always. If you wanna open up the door, I could come in and give you your homework and stuff. …Craig?"

I stared at the wood in hopes of maybe just burning a hole through it or maybe just willing it into nonexistence. Honestly, I didn't want to have to kick his door in because there had to be a way that I could fix this. I mean sure, if anyone could, it was me, right?

His silence was starting to piss me off a little bit and I was getting beyond concerned at this point. I slammed my hand down on the wood, wincing a bit with the sting of my flesh that quickly ensued, and the loud bang echoed down the hallway.

"Come on, asshole," I hollered at his door, "stop being such a little bitch and let me in. If this is about when I froze your boxers at our last sleepover, I already apologized for that. Tucker, just open the door! I will totally give you a free shot."

Still no reply.

"…How about a nut shut? A free, unguarded punch to my balls, all yours if you open this blasted door, you mean fucker."

I knew I was grasping at straws, and his poignant silence was drowning out everything else. It was no use.

Sighing again, this time deeply more audibly, I turned around and sat with my back pressed up against the door. Obviously he wasn't about to talk to me about whatever the hell was bothering him so fucking bad, so really it only left me with one option – wait it out. Even if it took all day, all night, I would sit at that door and wait for Craig.

Then there was scuffling again. Craig was moving, and now that I wasn't talking, I could hear what sounded to be like him dragging himself over to the door. When the soft thump that reverberates through the barrier between us reached me, I knew that he was undoubtedly sitting in a position similar to my own.

I could just imagine Craig, sitting on the other side, legs drawn up to his chest and his head resting in his hands, fingers raked through his ink black locks. Leaning my head back against the wood, I stared up at the ceiling helplessly.

But I would wait because, if for nothing else, that's what best friends do.

. . . . .

I jolted awake, head snapping back up as my eyes darted around trying to gather just where I was and adjust to the dim lighting. Until it dawned on me as to why I was sitting in Craig's darkened hall and why it was that my ass hurt so bad. Groaning, I fished out my phone only to learn that I'd been waiting here (sleeping mostly) until ten pm, already having nearly seven hours have passed since I walked in this house.

Craig had retained his silence and obviously hadn't left his room – I think I would've noticed that at least.

"Hey," I whispered to the darkness seeping in all around me. There was no light coming out from under his door, so he was likely sitting in the same state of poor illumination as well.

"Go home Clyde."

Barely there, and what might have just been my imagination, but it was Craig's faint whisper reaching me through the door.

"Not a chance."

"…just fucking go."

I turned around until I was kneeling, forehead pressed up against the cool surface of the timber and palms spread out on either side of me.

"_Let me in_," I pleaded gently.

A loud click broke the silence and I had to stop myself from tumbling face-first into Craig's room as the door suddenly, as if by magic, swung open on stealthy hinges.

And there was Craig.

His hair was greasy, unwashed, and his hat was just barely clinging to the crown of his head, as if for dear life while his clothes, namely jeans and black t-shirt, were rumpled. A dark shadow of stubble decorated his strong jaw and was accompanied by purple, almost bruise-like, bags underneath his eyes which appeared hollow; the lights were on yet no one was home. He smelled lightly of alcohol, which was somewhat of relief, considering I didn't find him passed out with a razor and some scotch.

Behind him, a perfect backdrop to his filthy exterior, was his room that was nearly unrecognizable. Emptied bottles and cans of various size and color were strewn across his carpet floor, along with crunched, torn and wadded papers. His dirty clothes hamper had been tipped over, its contents only further aiding in the mess. The most shocking was probably the state of his bed which had the mattress falling off to one side from its box-springs. Dents with bloody stains were scattered about his walls, most at eye level, as if he'd punched and torn open his hand in the process.

One look at his busted knuckles confirmed my suspicion.

Suddenly, Craig fell to his knees in front of me, us momentarily staring on equal level before he plopped his head down on my shoulder. His arms hung limply, finger tips grazing the carpet lightly anytime he inhaled and exhaled. Slowly, I put hands on his back, feeling his muscles around his spine arch and expand with every breath, and rubbed in concentric comforting circles.

"I paid Kenny McCormick to sleep with me."

At first, I'm sure that I misheard him, that maybe he said something and I just completely heard him wrong. Then when Craig doesn't say anything else, I start to think that maybe he's just trying to be funny.

"Uh…what?" I asked, a crooked smile unfurling upon my face.

Craig pulled back, his hands holding onto my upper arms tightly in a viselike grip. His dark blue eyes were filling with unshed tears, until finally one rolled down his face and all the way down his neck. And then it's like someone opened a floodgate.

The raven haired teen buried his face into my thick jacket, clutching at the material as silent sobs wrack his body. I'm too stunned to do anything other than wrap my arms around him. Craig and I are nearly the same size with me maybe, and I really mean maybe, being an inch taller and a tad bit wider, so it's more than just a little awkward to practically having him sitting in my lap.

"And…Bebe's fucking him too," he murmured against my chest.

I already knew that, but what shocks me the most is that Craig was…the thought it too awful to finish. Patiently, I rub the back of his neck, fingering the division between his smooth skin and silky hair absently.

"Do you want to talk about it? I mean, this has something to do with him, doesn't it?" I said cautiously.

Craig leaned out of my grasp, his face contorted from his anguish, as he answered, "It has everything to do with him. Absolutely fucking everything."

And then he launched into this story, telling me about how it all started at that one summer party when my suspicions of Bebe first came around and also when I'd gotten really smashed. He said that was the first time, but within the weeks following, he paid that son of a bitch again and again to fuck him. Craig told me about how he began to feel obsessive over Kenny, and then about how he saw Bebe paying him. He even told me about his strange encounter with Wendy, how it made him feel, and then when he ran back home and locked himself in his room.

It was hard to watch Craig struggle through telling me all of it, about how bad he felt, how much like an asshole he felt and like garbage. I could tell that he was in some serious turmoil, and perhaps I was a little mad about it – I mean, my best friend was screwing with the same guy who was screwing my long-time girlfriend was not cool. But then I knew that it wasn't Craig that I really ought to be mad at.

It was Kenny McCormick.

. . . . .

When Token told me he was having a party, I was pretty sure God wanted me to kick the shit out of McCormick. Don't get me wrong, I was seething when I had to come to school Thursday and Friday, but I also didn't want to have to deal with the teachers and shit when I would beat the fuck out of him, which was the only thing that kept me from jumping him. The party was the perfect locale for this.

So I walked into that party with only one thing on my mind.

As I approached, it seemed like he was having an argument with Cartman about something, and a pretty damn heated one, but that wouldn't deter me. Once I was nearing, the fat-ass left and disappeared into the crowd of people with that cocksucker staring after him.

I crossed the distance between me and Kenny McCormick with a few purposeful strides, taking out all of the anger and frustration at him being about to hurt my best friend without me being able to stop him or protect Craig.

My fist broke Kenny's nose with a gush of crimson following afterwards, and I couldn't have felt more satisfied.

I hated the fact that Kenny had made Craig, the peanut butter to my jelly, cry. I punched Kenny in the face, because sometimes, that just what best friends do.

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**Author's After-Note: Okay, so this chapter is really freaking short, and genuinely, I apologize. But then again, I really didn't want Clyde's cameo chapter to be very long. It was meant to be the backstory as to why we saw Kenny get the shit beaten out of him and also I wanted to build the relationship between Craig and Clyde. I'm also really sorry of Craig is completely OOC. If you don't think he is, then I'd love to know and it would be such a relief.**

**Stick around because next chapter, shit hits the fan. We return to the main line of drama and plus ***WENDY'S POV*****

**:D Review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author**'**s Note: Okay, so I know that several of you had mixed feelings about me having this chapter be from Wendy's POV but I worked long and hard, so honestly, I'm really happy with how this turned out. It's pretty long, and maybe you guys will find it boring, but I was really hoping to shed a new light upon Wendy and her situation, so I'm sorry if I do a poor job. I hope you guys like this new chapter, and don't forget to review ;)**

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Chapter 12: Cigarettes with the Enemy

My name is Wendy Testaburger and I hate feeling vulnerable, which I guess explains the entire situation I'd gotten myself into. If I hadn't been so stubborn, then I maybe, just maybe I could have avoided this whole thing, but when you live a guarded life like mine, it's better to hurt someone else than be hurt in return.

When my eyes landed upon the flyers taped to my locker, I didn't honestly know how to feel – mad at Cartman, hurt by Stan, jealous of Kyle – I didn't know. Your average girl, if she saw a bunch of pictures of her boyfriend making out with his male best friend, would have probably burst into tears and ran for the girls' bathroom ASAP, but I'm not your average girl.

Instead, I calmly opened my locker, grabbed the books I needed and closed it again before heading to my next class, not even bothering to tear down a single poster. Sure, on the inside I was beating Cartman's skull in with a tire iron, but on the outside, I still had to play the part of sweet, compassionate Wendy Testaburger. I went through my school day routine like nothing was wrong, like there weren't pictures of my already supposedly-gay boyfriend proving all the rumors true. No one spoke to me, not even Bebe, but rather let me go about my day in peace.

Come the last bell however, I said goodbye to calm, cool, collected me.

There's something so terribly satisfying about kick boxing that I'm not even sure how to convey it. With every landed blow, there's this electrifying rush of power, and what with all of my emotions that had been building that day, I punched with a new form of ferocity. As the team members slowly began to finish with their own training exercises and leave, I saw a particular mop of black hair enter the weight room from the corner of my eye.

"Hey Wends."

He only ever called me by my nick-name when he was trying to apologize – that or break up with me. I kept my focus on the torso dummy, repeatedly slamming my fists against the firm canvas surface. I had to keep my mind on the pain in my knuckles, on my too-tight pony tail, on my sore calf muscle, on anything other than Stan Marsh.

"Wendy?"

Even to my ears, his voice sounded small and afraid. Sighing loudly, I ceased in my senseless beating long enough to face my tormenter and lover.

"What, Stan? What do you want from me?" I asked harshly, placing my bruised hands upon my hips impassively.

"Look, I know that you're mad…," Stan began to trail off, holding his hands out in a mock gesture of surrender.

"Oh, right," I couldn't help but interrupt, "like mad can even cover it. There are pictures of you and _Kyle fucking Broflovski_ all around the school, and you think I'm just a little mad about all of it? God, you are such a fucking idiot sometimes!"

I don't usually resort to cussing but I felt like in this case, I was pretty damn justified. My boyfriend (or about to be ex-boyfriend) just stared back at me with those sympathetic blue eyes that always turned my legs to jelly and made my cold resolve melt.

"It's not what you think, Wends," he denied feebly. "Me and Kyle aren't like that…it was just this one-time thing. I made a mistake, got a little too drunk, and let Kenny talk me into something stupid and I wasn't…I didn't mean for this to happen."

He looked earnest enough, but I was starting to get sick of this routine.

"You can't keep doing this, Stan. It's not fair to him and certainly isn't fair to me – you can't just lead both of us on because you don't want to have to choose," I argued in vain. Stan already knew this but was still refusing to do anything about it.

He stayed silent.

"You know, this is it: I'm giving you an ultimatum," I breathed out, "It's me or him."

At the time, I can safely say I was prepared for him to break it off with me, to tell me right then and there that he would choose Kyle and then maybe, just maybe we could stop this destructive cycle once and for all. I could finally move on with my life, and sure, maybe it'd hurt for awhile, but I could get over it eventually.

Stan just said something about needing sometime to just think things over and left. I was so sure that he would choose Kyle.

So, when I got that fateful phone call a few days later from Stan telling me that he ended things with Kyle, I was more than just a little surprised. Naturally, I felt like shit, breaking up the wonder twins and I would come to regret that decision more and more, it would seem.

. . . . .

"Wendy, earth to Wendy!"

Bebe's shrill voice pierced my thoughts as I stared listlessly into my locker.

"What?" I asked out of reaction.

"You've been spacing out on me for the past couple of days and I'm starting to feel like I'm talking to a wall. I was thinking, now that you're back together with Stan, well not like you weren't before but, well you know, that was before…," Bebe's voice trailed off as we both watched a very dejected looking Kyle Broflovski meander down the halls.

Time seemed to slow as his deep green eyes flicked up to catch my own lingering gaze. It was a silent message as I apologized to him, switching my focus back and forth between those endless forest pools. I could tell, just with that one look that we both loved Stan and we shared a lot of those same feelings.

Yet Kyle was far from being my rival.

"Woah, major stare-down," Bebe commented from behind me, though I barely heard her – she was just background noise to me as I watched Kyle's tall frame round the corner and out of sight.

"Shut up, Bebe," I said absently as I slammed my locker shut and walked down the opposite end of the hall.

My day passed quickly, though it seemed like whispers followed me everywhere. Rumors circulated around, not that it was surprising, but it bothered me a little bit by having all eyes on me yet I tried to make it out to be a challenge. I held my head high and walked tall, not letting it slow me down.

But then it seems like universe likes to drop the unexpected into my lap.

So, when I saw Craig bawling, I genuinely didn't know what to do.

"You know, you could've broken a couple bones," I said, crossing my arm over my chest, "but with a right hook like that, you're a shoo-in for the boxing team."

_Smooth, Testaburger, you are so not helping_, I thought to myself as Craig in return gave me a cold sneer from behind his watery red eyes. I've never been good with people who cry, let alone Craig, who he and I have never really gotten along.

"Do not patronize me," he growled, still doubled over.

I merely shrugged, "I'm not, but I also know that you're not about to tell me about it, so why bother in making you feel better?"

Alright, so I was yet again trying to come off cooler than was necessary, but I was never really comfortable with being little miss emotions and all that bullshit. We banter idling back and forth until the sound of yelling interrupts us – two distinctive voices that I would know from anywhere.

Sure enough, my boyfriend and his possible butt-buddy come rounding the corner. We don't hear much of what they're saying, but by the dark look Kyle's forest eyes were adapting and Stan's desperate one, they were at it again. Their fights were always the same – Kyle would yell, and Stan would get upset, but then somehow, they ended up knuckle bumping like nothing had even happened to begin with, but somehow, I knew that wasn't going to be the outcome.

Ever true to form, Stan ran away, holding his nose and mouth shut as not to prematurely puke. He ran right past Craig and myself, obviously too lost in his own blur of thoughts. Naturally I had to chase after him.

I patted his back and smoothed his hair while he vomited, whispering soft words of hush into his ear. At last, when Stan had nothing left to throw up, I cradled him until the dry heaving stopped and he was shaking with silent, tearless, sobs.

And it was my fault.

. . . . .

Placing the blame on someone else had, as it has always been, the easy way out, and maybe I just needed to be able to point to one specific person and say "you're the reason why". And lucky me, I had Eric Theodore Cartman to play that role because, after all, it did sort of trace back to his stupid prank.

Luckily, while I was being caught up in one of my mental rants, I came across my unsuspecting target.

Cartman had gotten tall and certainly was not the token fat-kid anymore, but that didn't change the fact that he was a complete self-centered asshole who only ever got joy from fucking one's happiness up. However, as I approached, he looking less and less like the demonic bastard I'd come to loathe and despise.

His shoulders were hunched as if carrying an invisible weight and his dark amber eyes stared listlessly off into his opened locker, as if not truly seeing what was before him. Taking care to be as loud as possible on my way over, I expected him to turn and see me, yet he was still oblivious, too lost in some sort of strange trance.

"Ahem." I cleared my throat nice and loud to get his attention, which seemed to do the trick as he slammed his locker shut, eyes falling upon me in disgust.

"What took you so long, Wendy? Thought you would've jumped me sooner for freaking out your pathetic little boyfriend. You must be losing you edge, huh?" he snarls nastily at me, unleashing the venom that reminded me more of the old Cartman.

"You better back the fuck off him," I growled angrily, my hate rushing up to swell within my chest – painful and burning. My mind flicked back over to Kyle and how strangely Cartman had been acting toward him, the new way he was harassing the ginger. I added quickly, "and I don't just mean Stan, you shit-munching lard."

His face darkened at both the insult and probably the true intent of my words, I clenched my fists in order to keep myself from shaking. When Cartman and I clashed, it was never pretty and I knew that I was taking a major risk by starting up with him even when he's already seemingly in a bad mood. Oh well, too late for regrets now.

"Come again?" he asks, voice low and deadly. "You know, I was sure that you were just _threatening me_ _over Kyle_. Not a wise move, Wendy, considering he hates your guts for oh, what was that again? Right, that's it, breaking up him and Stan, who've been friends or longer than you've been a total whore. Yeah, that's right; it's just been that fucking long."

"Don't make me kick your ass, fat-so."

Already I felt my own anger rising up against his; burning its way up my throat and turning cheeks undoubtedly a dark shade of scarlet. There were few times when I resorted to pure violence, seeing as I preferred intellectual diplomacy, but whereas Cartman was concerned, all bets are off. Pouring as much anger into the joints, tendons, and muscle up my right arm, I punched outward, aiming to break his jaw and square off his feet.

With a jolt, Cartman snatched my fist right out of midair, not even so much as batting an eye. He arched an eyebrow at what must be my dumb-struck face. There was no way that lard-ass had just caught one of my punches, no fucking way! But his fingers that only tightened their vice-like grip on me begged to differ.

"You know, I'm not that little fat kid from elementary school, Wendy."

Unconsciously, I winced – that was glaringly apparent, especially right then.

Cartman's eyes dart across my face, as if he were momentarily looking at someone else, the hate in those twin amber pools momentarily dimming. I suddenly wanted to know who was on his mind just then.

"Looks like it'd be a pretty fair fight then, huh?" I try and invoke his anger once more, but suddenly Cartman releases me, obviously through with our little skirmish that truly accomplished nothing for either of us, other than perhaps just a way to vent frustrations elsewhere than the original source.

We both turned away, walking off in our respective directions.

. . . . .

"Does it really look okay?"

"You look amazing."

"Come on, Be, seriously."

"I am being serious! You look damn sexy, girl! Damn sexy!"

I stared into Bebe's full-length mirror at the dark haired girl before me skeptically. She certainly did look stunning, hair falling down past her shoulders in loose ringlets and dark makeup that highlighted her pale tawny eyes. The dress, however, was the most stunning, made from a dark midnight satin that came down to the middle of her thighs and swished just so perfectly with every movement. It was strapless of course, showing off the boobs she didn't even know she had.

There was no way in hell that girl was me, plain old conservative Wendy Testaburger.

Beside me however, was Bebe, who outshined me as always. She was wearing a short red cocktail dress with her golden waves done up casually though it still managed to look as if a professional stylist had slaved hours over it. She radiated natural beauty, always looking comfortable in her own skin, which was something I envied her for.

"I don't know, it just looks so…so skimpy," I tugged on the hem of the dress, one that Bebe had absolutely insisted that I try on. My best friend just rolled her eyes back at me.

"That's kind of the point, Wendy," she sighed exasperatedly. I watched as her reflection approaches the girl who was said to be me as she put both her manicured hands upon my shoulders comfortingly. "As soon as you walk into that party, Stan is going to just die, you hear me? He won't be able to keep his hands off you, and I'll be surprised if any other guy could resist either. Me-ow," she purred flirtatiously.

I shrugged her shoulders off, smiling and shaking my head.

"You're crazy," I giggled.

"Yeah? Well you're just a little prude," she poked me in the side. "Now, let's get you into some high heels. Any last words?"

After wrestling me into a pair of semi-skyscraper pumps, Bebe deemed us 'party worthy' and so we headed off to Token's house. I could feel the music before I even heard it which instantly gave me a bad feeling – I wasn't much of a party girl after all. Sure, I could attend a few, but normally with Stan on one side of me, so now, I felt practically naked without my boyfriend. We'd just silently agreed to come without one another, something that I was now starting to regret.

"Stop worrying," Bebe hollered over the music once we found our way into the dark loud party. Over head, strobe lights and lasers painted everyone in various colors, distorting my vision crazily. Bebe led me over to a small group of couches and chaise lounges that had a few party-goers lingering about. She snagged a bottle of tequila out of a nearby cooler and snatched us two mismatched crystal shot glasses before pouring me a large glass full.

"To us," I said hesitantly, clinking drinks with her. Bebe exuberantly downed hers and I decided to follow suit.

The flavor that exploded across my tongue was almost indescribable, and not in a good way. The alcohol carried a very sharp and pungent wood flavor though oddly reminded me of the desert. I coughed and hacked once it burned down my throat, though the cooling sensation that flooded me once I took in a few gulps of air was fairly pleasant.

Bebe poured me another glass, then another, then another.

However, for every glass I had, she must have had at least two or three. As tipsy as I was starting to get, Bebe was well on her way to being drunk.

"Y-you know, Wends," Bebe hiccupped, one of her eyes drooping lazily as she got up to her wobbling feet, "I think – I think I need to puke, like right now. Like just right now."

"Whoa there," I caught Bebe before she collapsed, albeit a tab hesitantly because after all, I wasn't really wanting to get any barf on me. "You think you could make it to the bathroom, huh? Bebe? Wanna go to the bathroom?"

The drunken mess of Bebe Stevenson bobbed her wild head of blonde hair that at some point, she'd freed from its restricting clip. Securing my arm around her waist and relying heavily upon the muscles I'd gained from boxing, I led my best friend up the stairs of the Blacks' mansion and down a long narrow hallway. Bebe walked the rest of the way as if she already knew where it was – she'd probably thrown up here more times than I'd ever even been inside.

Trying not to look directly at the vomit, I held Bebe's wavy locks back from her face until at last she seemed finished. She slumped down against the wall, leaning her head back against the stucco.

"I'm going to go wait in the hall," I murmured, the overpowering scent of stomach acid and upchucked alcohol beginning to make me dizzy. Bebe barely acknowledged me with a deft nod before I slipped out the door and pulled it closed gently behind me.

"Wendy?"

_Oh no_.

I came face to face with none other than Craig Tucker.

"Oh, hey," I forced a smile, tucking my hair behind my ear nervously. All of the thoughts and feelings from that day in the gym came rushing back over me – the desire, the electricity, the possibility. Nervously I played with the hem of my borrowed dress.

"What are you doing here?" he asked casually. I eyed him up and then down, taking in his dark jeans and black t-shirt that hugged the contours of his well-built torso. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I boldly took a step closer to him until I was able to rest my hand upon the soft fabric stretched over his chest.

"Oh you know, this and that," I replied, letting my voice drop.

"You certainly are a girl of mystery," he mused softly, placing one feather light hand on the small of my back which instantly made me shiver in delight, "and I don't usually go for girls, but in your case, I'd say you have me hook, line, and sinker."

"You like me, even though I'm a head strong bitch?" I whispered, pressing a little more upon him as I tilted my head up just so to look at him through my long lashes. I flexed my on well toned arms, making the muscles stand out rigidly. "And what about these?"

His fingers brushed hastily across my biceps and thus came his husky reply, "Especially those."

The sexual tension crackled between us, making the air thick and loaded with so many unsaid things and hidden innuendos. Some reasonable part of my brain reminded me that I had a boyfriend, but my inhibitions and conscience had been significantly muted by the tequila. Slowly, almost painfully so, Craig let the tips of his fingers run along the curve of my breast and down, down, down to the angled lines of my hips and the slightly protruding bones of my pelvis.

I leaned in a little more, decreasing the distance between our lips slowly, and let my eyes begin to slide shut.

"What the _fuck_ is going on here?"

Stan's voice was like a bucket of cold water as Craig and I jumped apart. I was barely even able to get a good look at my boyfriend – about to be ex-boyfriend – before he whirled on his heel and retreated back down the stairs. Casting one empathetic glance over my shoulder at Craig, I took off after him, hoping that I wasn't too late.

I don't know what I was thinking and all things considered, getting caught up in the moment really wasn't a good enough excuse. Maybe some part of me wanted Stan to find us and break up with me, or maybe this was the vicious cycle that our relationship went through finally coming full circle again.

Once I reached the downstairs again, I was overwhelmed by the flashing lights and writhing bodies. I scanned the crowd helplessly, hoping to find Stan, but no such luck. When at last I made a complete round about the open floor, I figured he escaped to the outside balconies.

Tip-toeing over to one of the large French doors, I stepped outside into the chilly night air, though it felt soothing against my flushed skin. It seemed to momentarily clear my head from the veil the alcohol had put me under. I wrapped my arms around myself tightly and exhaled loudly, my breath coming out in wisps that dissipated into nothingness.

"Well don't you look like a whore."

My head snapped to one side only to see the silhouette out Cartman. Briefly, his face was illuminated by the red-orange glow of a fire which I recognized instantly to be a cigarette jutting out from between his lips. I drew a tad nearer, feeling morbidly curious about my arch enemy.

"What the fuck's your problem?" I retorted.

Cartman suddenly sighed, producing from his pocket a package of Marlboro before holding it out to me as if it were a peace offering. I'd only ever smoked once before, and that was when my dad let me have one tiny puff of his fancy Cuban cigar and that was nearly a year ago.

I took one from the pack.

As he leaned in to light me up, Cartman replied around his own cig, "He kisses me and then runs off like some fucking coward."

Arching an eyebrow, I leaned my arms upon the railing of the porch, mirroring the position of Cartman. I took a long drag from the cigarette, letting it burn within my lungs and sting the back of my throat before releasing my toxic load of smoke back out into the clean mountain air.

"I'm assuming this has something to do with Kyle."

"Maybe you're not as retarded as they say."

"And maybe you're just more of a flaming homo for that Jew than you think."

Cartman winced at my words but silently exhaled his own smoke steadily, curling the tendrils of dirtied air out from his nostrils expertly. Since when had Cartman begun smoking?

"Fuck off, Wendy. At least I'm not a fat bitchy cunt who only ever likes to sleep around and tell everyone to do because you're a control freak."

I felt ready to snap again – Cartman had that wonderful way of being able to push my buttons just so, and the alcohol circulating within probably wasn't helping.

"Why the hell do you hate me so much, anyway?" I demanded loudly, whirling to face him, and stamped my foot for emphasis.

"Oh, you mean beside the fact that you consistently make my friend's life a living hell, what with you cheating on him and then taking him back in the next second. Not to mention the fact you made him chose you over the Jew, which was low, and that's coming from me. I'm actually surprised you even had to fucking ask," he ranted, facing me as well.

He was right, even I had to admit that.

I felt as though the wind had just been sucked from my sails as I deflated like a leaking balloon. Cartman was right, of course he was, I knew that all the while but ignored it. A new wave of exhaustion hit, making me brace myself along the side railing. I tried desperately to keep my legs from wobbling, but I felt suddenly as if I'd just crashed – I needed someplace warm and safe which was pretty much anywhere but here.

Just then, warmth engulfed me and I looked over to see Cartman placing his jacket around my shoulders in almost a kind gesture (or it would have been minus the blatant sneer). I was genuinely at a loss for words, too proud to thank him and too stunned to refuse.

"Come on, Wendy, I'll drive you home."

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**Review.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Alright, I really don't have much to say other than the fact that I really hope you all have enjoyed this fic. And before you all start asking, no, this is not the end but this is however the second to last chapter. I know it may seem like I've left a lot of loose ends but no worries, I plan to tie them all up nicely. This has been an awesome experience and I have cherished each of your reviews because honestly, I couldn't have made it this far without the amazing and wonderful support of my totally beasting readers :D I love you guys! **

**I want to give a special thanks to Kymanlvr and .Pen. This one's dedicated to you guys.**

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Chapter 13: You Don't Always Get What You Want...

There's something comforting about waking up wrapped up in someone else's arms, even if they may be your super best friend who you probably have a less than healthy relationship with. For the first time in a long while, I slept peacefully, listening to Stan's sighing breaths from beside me that lulled me into sleep. But now, with morning upon us, I was reminded frustratingly of the complex situation I was in.

"You awake?"

I opened my eyes to see Stan's inquisitive gaze right across from me.

"Yeah," I replied, "I was just thinking."

Taking a deep breath in, I sat up and stretched my arms, thus letting out a large yawn that nearly racked my entire frame. I pushed my fiery curls away from my face with one hand and rubbed the sleep from my eyes with the other. Stan's curtains were drawn shut, but that didn't stop the pale morning light from seeping in and staining his carpet with its silvery-gold rays. Goosebumps rose across my exposed torso from the chilled air, but it felt like a refreshing break from the warmth of the sheets.

"So, how about I make us both some breakfast and you tell me all about last night over a nice cup of coffee?" Stan offered, getting out of the bed entirely to stand up and crack the joints in his spine. We were both still wearing the matching pair of sweats, and suddenly, I felt as if this were just another sleepover with my super best friend, where I hadn't kissed Cartman previously and where Stan hadn't admitted that he was confused over how he felt about me. Back to normality.

I got up and followed Stan downstairs, deciding that he and I were probably long over due for this talk and that if anything, we both deserved answers from one another. Silently, I prayed I wouldn't regret this.

With a soft whir, the coffee machine started up, brewing us a pot of Folgers. As per usual, I took my seat at his small kitchen table and watched absently as Stan started up the fire on the stove to make us some scrambled eggs.

"So, want to talk about it?" he asked, busily retrieving our breakfast from the fridge and cracking the soft shells against the counter before dumping them into the frying pan. The room was filled with sound of sizzling food.

"I don't know," I said honestly, struggling with my words. "I mean, I don't even know what to make of what happened last night, and I don't think that anyone else would either."

"If it was enough to make you that upset then it must've been something significant," he conceded. I stared at Stan's back, waiting patiently for more, "but I am your best friend – super best friend – for better or for worse and all that. I would hate to put more walls between us, is all."

"It's not like I don't want to tell you, or that I can't," I shook my head, "it's just that I'm not sure how you'd take it. You'd probably throw up, dude, and I don't want to make you lose your appetite right before breakfast."

He paused momentarily in his flipping of the eggs, spatula resting upon the side of the dark metal pan.

"…That bad huh?" he murmured. "Fine, well then how about I tell you about what I did last night and then you tell me?"

I shook my head again, "You're not going to like what I say, dude. It's not just me not wanting to tell you – it's the fact that you're going to wish you hadn't heard it once I do tell you."

"Try me."

"Okay, I kissed Cartman."

_Plunk_. The spatula fell to the linoleum floor with a dull flop. Suddenly, I wished that Stan would turn around so I could at least see what his reaction was. The black-haired teen, careful to keep his face away from me, retrieved the utensil from the floor and, wiping it on his sweats, went back to flipping the eggs.

"Oh."

"Need to throw up?" I asked curiously.

"No…no, I think…," Stan suddenly jolted over to the sink and hurled – I didn't even think he'd have anything to throw up, but low and behold he was still leaning over the sink and barfing his brains out. At last when it seemed like he was done, he washed his mouth out, splashed some water on his face and finally turned to face me.

"Are you alright?" It was a redundant question to ask that he promptly ignored.

Stan sat down across from me, still looking deathly pale but solemn as he said, "I want you to tell me everything, start to finish, about what happened and how."

And so I did.

I told him about the whole boner thing and how confused I was, and then about when I finally saw Cartman again and how we kissed. Then I even went into how we played this little mind game if how whoever actually started to have real feelings was the loser. I tried to explain the unspoken rules that he and I abided by, though Stan would only shake his head. Finally, I told him about what Cartman had said, and how it had pissed me off so much that I don't even myself know why. I then told him how I kissed Cartman first at the party and how I wasn't sure how to respond to my feelings toward the worst human being on the planet.

When at last everything had been said, Stan went quiet for a short while, staring at his upturned palms pensively.

"And that's it?" he asked in a hushed voice.

I nodded.

"Well, I'm glad you told me, but that's about all I have to say right now. I think I just need to…need to think about all of this, dude. I mean, this is a lot of information to handle all at once, and I just, I think I need to be alone right now."

I knew Stan hadn't many anything by it, but I still felt hurt. Yes, I understood that this must be hard to take in at once, but then again, it was hard for me! I mean, for crying out loud, I have feelings for the one person I truly despise and several impure thoughts.

"And what about you, Stan?" I asked, suddenly remembering what he'd said prior. "What did you do last night?"

He got up from his chair, clearing away our plates and mugs to the sink. For a moment, he just rinsed them out, as if too focused upon his task at hand, but Stan was always a very cautious person, at least when it came to breaking news, especially bad news.

"I walked in on Wendy and Craig making out."

"Sick!" I cried before I could stop myself, but instantly slapped my hand across my mouth afterwards. _Smooth Broflovski – open mouth, insert foot much._ "What I meant was, uh, okay yeah that's just plain weird, but what'd you do?"

"Nothing – well, I walked away, if you could really count that as doing something. I was planning to leave until I came across you…and you know the rest from there."

I surveyed Stan's profile, watching as his blue eyes gazed absently into the soapy water slopping around in his sink. Honestly, I wasn't sure how to feel about Wendy. Stan loved her so much, and I didn't doubt that she felt the same way, but they just couldn't ever seem to make things work – at least not for very long anyway.

"I'm sorry dude," I said, getting up from my chair to walk over to my super best friend. I wasn't much of a hug person, but it seemed like just a comforting pat on the back wasn't enough, so I wrapped my arms around the dark-haired teen, resting my chin down upon his shoulder blades. Stan leaned back into my hug just slightly, but before either of us could say anything else, I released him and headed back out to his front door.

"I'll catch you later," I called over my shoulder.

I left Stan's house without even looking back.

. . . . .

School followed that long and tedious weekend. I came to school, walking by myself for the first time in several years, feeling like absolute shit and dreading when I would run into Cartman. Hell, I didn't even know what to say to him, maybe something like "Oh, sorry about making out with you and then cutting out of there, but I just don't know if I want to start a relationship with a Nazi who enjoys torturing me." Yeah, right.

My cynicism seemed to hang like a morbid cloud above my head all day, thankfully driving away any and all unwanted companions. Even in history, where Cartman sits right behind me, he still didn't talk to me, though I could feel his gaze digging into my back with every passing second and I knew that if I even so much as glanced at him, my resolve would break.

At long last, after what seemed to be an eternity, I found myself in my last class of the day, staring up at the clock haplessly. I watched the red arm tick, tick, tick around impatiently, barely paying any attention to what my Econ teacher was droning on about.

_How had I gotten myself into this mess?_

I didn't even know how to answer myself, so how on earth was I supposed to fix any of this shit? I mean, honestly, what could I do? I tapped my pencil against my blank notebook listlessly, staring at the empty lines that still needed to be filled.

The bell rang, sharp and loud, releasing me from this hell hole they called a school. Recklessly, I shoved everything I had out on my desk, which already wasn't much, into my dark olive green back pack, hefting it onto my shoulder all ready to leave when suddenly, my teacher called out to me.

"Mr. Brokfolvski?"

Teens streamed out past me and out the door as I looked up at the wrinkled face of the teacher, Mrs. Grady.

"Yeah?" my voice sounded tired even to my own ears.

"Would you mind cleaning the board off for me? Oh, you too Miss Testaburger," she requested in a quavering Grandmotherly tone, all the while peering at me and Wendy, who was standing like a deer caught in the headlights at her desk, also preparing to leave for the day.

"I really can't-,"

"- with boxing practice-,"

"-loads of homework and my little brother-,"

"Hush!" Mrs. Grady commanded sternly, effectively silencing me and Wendy's weak protests. "I am an old woman and you both with help me, is that clear? Now, I'm going to go home, and I would like both of you to take only ten minutes – not too much of your precious time – to clean off this black board."

"Yes Mrs. Grady," we both mumbled in unison. Satisfied with our agreement, the old teacher hobbled out the door with her embroidered tote bag hanging limply from her boney shoulder. With a soft click, she let the door shut behind her, leaving me and Wendy. Alone.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping and brow wrinkling with the start of a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth as she said, "Let's just get this over with, 'kay?"

"Couldn't agree more," I replied quickly, showing my hands in a sign of surrender.

We worked in silence, only the sound of shuffling could be heard as we swiped the erasers across our own designated sides of the board.

"I didn't mean to steal him away from you, if that's what you think."

Wendy said it so softly, I at first was sure that it was my imagination, but she had paused in her erasing, hand poised with the block of condensed cotton still against the pale green surface of the chalk board. All I could stare at her for a moment in hopes that she would elaborate on this little statement.

"It wasn't ever supposed to happen this way," her voice raised up a tad higher as she turned to face me. "He was supposed to pick you, not me so then I could…so then I could finally just get over him."

I blinked. And then blinked again. I'd never seen Wendy Testaburger look so close to tears before. She tossed the eraser to the floor, sending up a plume of white chalk into the weighted air between us, and wrapped her arms protectively around her midsection.

"I love Stan so much, but we always end up hurting one another. Did you know before this whole fiasco he told me that he'd had an extensive affair with some cheerleader? I don't want us to keep this destructive cycle, but god, I love him so much."

"I'm sorry, Wendy," I whispered futilely.

"You know, Kyle, me and Stan have our differences and our fights, but he loves me. I guess it's just that you don't always get what you want – not the dream house or the perfect boyfriend – but you get what you need. I need Stan and even though we aren't perfect, I've learned to love every part of him, not just the parts I like but also the flaws too."

And then it hit me.

"Wendy!" I cried, crossing the space between us. Her eyes grew wide as I picked her up by her hips, twirling around madly. "You're a genius! Pure genius!"

I pulled the shocked girl into a tight hug, her feet still dangling off of the ground slightly before finally setting her back down. She looked confused but a grin that matched my own was slowly splitting across her face. For a moment, Wendy opened her mouth as if to say something, but then after a moment's hesitation, shook her head with a soft giggle.

"Go get him, Jew-boy," she gave me a light push on the shoulder which was about all the encouragement I needed.

I practically flew out of the classroom, letting the door slam shut behind me. With a few leaps and bounds I made it down the first flight of stairs to the ground level. God, I hoped that Cartman was home and that he would listen to me. My heart was racing as I bolted out into the quad, willing my legs to move faster while my backpack bounced erratically behind me. My lungs were burning with the exertion and every panting breath seemed to shake my entire torso until finally I slowed my pace to a light jog, nearly reaching the school's main gates.

And then I saw him.

Sure enough, pacing around the gates was none other than Stan, looking pale and worried. Suddenly, with my new insight, I knew what I had to do to fix things between him and myself. As I approached, I suddenly prayed to Moses that I had the strength to do this.

Stan's blue eyes met mine and time seemed to slow. I reached out, grasping onto his shoulders roughly, and mashed my mouth against his. For a moment, Stan went rigid and I thought for sure that he would barf, that is of course until he pushed me backwards with just as much force.

"What the hell dude?" he demanded angrily, cheeks flushed with annoyance.

I waited for the fireworks, the tingling sensation that I'd felt with Cartman.

But it never came.

When I finally looked back at Stan, he was staring at me with a look of expectancy.

"I think I finally understand, dude," I smiled, only receiving a wary look from my friend. "I love you, man, but in nothing more than a super best friend sort of way. I know how hard things are with Wendy but I also know that you love her so much. I don't know how I didn't see this before, but you were trying to use me to break things off with Wendy."

"But I chose her over you, remember? I'm not…I wouldn't ever use you like that," Stan shook his head.

"Dude, I know that. Maybe it was just subconscious but I also know how many opportunities you take to break things off with Wendy but you end up going back to her. Correct me if I'm wrong but you love her, love her to the point where it scares you to death because you want to give her everything, where you would do anything for her. I know how you feel, because I feel the same way about someone else."

Stan regarded me silently for a long moment, as if mulling over everything I said. At last, he sighed, a reluctant smile splitting his face as he clapped one hand down upon my shoulder firmly, saying, "You know, you're right dude. I've been a real dick lately and I'm glad that you still are looking out for me. What do we do from here?"

"Well, Wendy's still up in Grady's room…," I trailed off.

"What am I even supposed to say to her? I caught her making out with Craig Tucker, for Christ's sake – I doubt she even still wants to be with me after all of this shit."

"Dude," I grabbed onto his wrist, freeing myself from him, "she loves you too. Just go to her, thing's will fix themselves," Stan gave me a hesitant look, "I promise, Stan."

"I honestly don't know what I would do without you," he grinned, pulling me into a hug that reminded me more of the old times. As we pulled apart, I ruffled his head of black hair affectionately, my chest almost about to burst with unbridled joy. With a swift knuckle bump, we were on our way, both off in different directions, but Stan had given me that final burst I needed.

. . . . .

When I arrived at Cartman's house, I was sweaty and pretty out of breath even in the chilled Colorado air. Absently, I straightened my clothes and took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm the wild pounding against my ribs. Mustering up all of the courage I had, I rang Cartman's door bell.

The door creaked open and for a brief second, Cartman looked pleasantly surprised to see me before trying to put back on an emotionless mask. He seemed at a loss for words yet I also didn't give him the time to either say anything or turn me away.

"I'm sorry," I said hastily, "for everything. And I wanted you to know that I do want you, even if it's crazy and stupid and even if you hate me. I don't want to be with Stan or Kenny or anyone else for that matter but you. I know that I'm a Jew and you're a fat Nazi bastard but…Butters?"

Past Cartman, sitting on his couch and humming that little unrecognizable tune, was none other than Butters Stoch. He seemed content, gluing bits of cardboard together, until of course he glanced up to see me standing there in the doorway. He smiled that goofy grin at me and waved before returning to his 'work'.

"He's here to help me with an English project," Cartman said, his eyes staying fixed upon me intently.

"Oh," was all I could manage for a moment before a sudden wave of jealousy hit me, "are you and Butters…?"

Cartman crossed his arms and said bluntly, "What does it matter to you, Jew-boy?"

I guess somehow I knew what he was trying to do but I let him anyway. He wanted me to say it, or better yet, show it. With an angry snort, I pushed my way in past Cartman to his house, Butters glancing up to stare at me.

"Butters," I said flatly, "get the fuck out of here. Now."

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my hip as Cartman pressed himself up beside me, resting his cheek against my temple. Instantly I relaxed into his touch but felt a smirk tug at my own lips as Butters got this horrified look upon his face, rapidly gathering up all of his shit before darting out to the back door in the Cartmans' kitchen. Once I heard the slam of the door, confirming that we were alone, Cartman whirled me around to face him.

For the first time in what seemed to be my entire life, Cartman was smiling, truly genuinely smiling at me. I could tell he was trying to hold it back but suddenly, he pulled me tightly into an embrace, leaving me to simply burry my head against his chest and inhale his scent. When at last we separated, Cartman still seemed to want to hold onto me, as if fearful that I might run away again, but I wasn't going anywhere.

"What made you decide to come back to me, Jew?" he asked quietly. "Finally lose your mind, or did you just realize you're super horny for me after all?"

"I realized that even if you're a mean, insensitive asshole who only cares about himself, well that I can live with it. You're not perfect – neither am I – but I need you Cartman," I smirked at him as I backed away slightly, just enough to put both of my hands together in the shape of a heart over my chest. "You complete me."

Cartman simply rolled his eyes at the cheesy comment, "Yeah, yeah, kike. Just shut up and kiss me already."

I'd never been happier to oblige.

Cartman placed a feather-light kiss against my own lips yet, before I could really kiss him senseless, he pulled back, a look of surprise suddenly on his face.

"You know, Jew, you lost – looks like you owe me twenty bucks."

"We never made it a bet, asswipe," I snorted, pressing my forehead against his own until our noses touched. Cartman soft breaths rolled off my face and cooled my neck, making a pleasant shiver travel down my spine.

"You're always such a god damn Jew," he murmured, with every word his lips brushing mine.

"Bring it on, fat-ass."

My name is Kyle Broflovski and I love Eric Cartman.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Alright, so this is technically the final chapter and I'm really sorry I didn't have this up sooner. See, I had surgery today and I was pretty much asleep, so when I did wake up it was pretty late and then when I tried to update, I kept getting this stupid as error screen which is bothering me. Like a lot. So, I don't know when my next chapter is going to be of any of my fics, sorry guys. You should bother the fanfiction people until they do something about it. **

**Anyway, not the point of this author's note, however the point is, thanks so much! I can't believe how many people liked this story and read it and reviewed it. I mean, without your kind words and helpful suggestions and criticism, well I wouldn't be here. This was a great adventure that I'm glad I could take with all of you and I hope that I only get better from here on out. Thanks to all of the readers out there who left reviews and even to those who didn't, all of my silent readers, I'm still glad that you could enjoy this story as much as I did writing it.**

**And now, I just wanted to take a special second to thanks a few special people, such as Kymanlvr (you freaking rock), Sami (god knows I luv ya ;D), Rumanya, flannelninja, sweetest lil empath, Kittii Chaos, ActionGal07, gothrockfairy, Sukiyaki-san, Fiona868, , xxXSleepyMcCormickXxx, and the annonymous "Dina". This is a shout-out to all of my regular reviewers who kept me going and only ever had kind words to say. Thanks guys, and this one's for you.**

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...Chapter 14: But You Get What You Need...

_Wham, wham, wham._

I smacked the training dummy a couple more times, feeling satisfied with the burning exertion on my muscles. Against, for the third day in a row, I'd stayed late, long after boxing practice had ended, but luckily Clyde had football so he'd still be taking me home. I guess Wendy really had been right – I was a shoe-in for the boxing team and was well on my way to being co-captain.

"They said you were really good, but I guess I had to just come see it for myself."

Standing in the gym was Kenny, a thick bandage across the bridge of his nose from where Clyde had punched him and dark bruises at the corners of his eyes. I couldn't help but wince slightly; it'd been awhile since my best friend had knocked his lights out and even longer since I last talked to him.

"What do you want, Kenny? Wendy already went home if you wanted to talk to her about getting a spot on the team," I explained nonchalantly, heading off to my duffle bag in the corner. Kenny trailed along but kept his distance from me, a wise move on his part. As I dug through my bag for my usual hat, he began to talk.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," his voice echoed around the vacant room.

I shrugged, tugging my hat on, "Apology accepted."

Not glancing back, I hefted the bag onto one shoulder and headed out for the door with some hope of putting distance between us. Honestly I was over Kenny, but the last thing I needed was him hanging around to mess stuff up. Not when I was finally getting things back to normal.

"I'm retired, you know," he continued, still following behind me doggedly. "I told every one of my clients that I'm leaving the business."

"Interesting," I replied, nearly out to the quad already.

"Craig," Kenny groaned, jogging in front of me to stop my retreat, "look, I'm trying to get my life on track and after Clyde punched me, I realized that if I'd been in his shoes, and seeing all of the shit I'd put you through, I would've hit me too."

"I'm glad you got some sense knocked into you," I tried to sound bored, trying again to get around him but Kenny blocked my path once more.

"Just hear me out, will you?" Kenny opened his arms wide, as if to prevent any escape attempts and gave me a look. Sighing, I walked over to one of the nearby benches, dropping all of my crap down, and sat dejectedly. Of course, Kenny sat down right beside me, leaving little to no room between us.

"Better be quick, McCormick," I grumbled, crossing my arms. Despite acting like a jerk, I was actually a bit curious as to what he had to say to me after everything we'd been through.

"I want to make it up to you, if you'll let me," Kenny paused as if to gauge my reaction but I took care to make sure my face was blank. "When I was working, you were the one person who I actually looked forward to. You could've paid me nothing and I still would've been with you, but you have to understand, Craig, that I'm no good. I didn't want you to start to like me because well honestly I didn't want you to fall for a whore – I just didn't want you to be disappointed."

"Then why did you sleep with me a second time? Better yet, why even sleep with me at all?" I demanded.

"I didn't think you'd get attached and what's more, I didn't think that _I_ would get attached. But then I started breaking my rules for you and all of those morning-after Big Macs…I don't know, I guess it all started to go to my head. With you, I didn't feel like some cheap piece of shit," Kenny sighed and shook his head. "But regardless, I'm sorry for being such a douche."

I sighed, feeling the tension leaving my shoulders. This was better, at least we were able to talk about this whole shitty situation.

"What ever happened between you and Wendy?" Kenny asked quietly but I could hear the curiously jealous tone in his voice. Sure Stan had told him, but perhaps hearing it from me would put him at ease.

"She wanted to be with Stan and I think we mutually agreed to be sort-of-friends." Wendy was still a sore spot for me – I mean, she was an amazing girl, one of the only few to ever truly invoke my interest, but perhaps that's all it ever would be – morbid fascination. I glanced back up into Kenny's deep sea eyes, we stared at each other for a moment before finally, I looked away, asking, "Anyway, how exactly were you planning on making it up to me?"

"Well," he scratched his head, blonde hair falling around in little tendrils across his face, "I was hoping to sweep you off your feet and make you fall madly in love with me or maybe just take you out to dinner and a movie…but I suppose not, huh?"

I contemplated his words silently for a moment, churning them over and over again in my head.

"Fine," I said at last, "but you're paying."

"Really?"

Smirking, I shook my head slightly, "Really, you idiot."

A huge bright grin split Kenny's face as he learned in closer to me. I pushed the stray locks of hair away from those deep cerulean eyes as I let myself be drawn in by them. Passionately, we kissed, his hands delving into my hair as he tried to pry my hat off of my head greedily. I ran my hands down his neck, unzipping his parka slightly as I trailed down his torso. It was like at last getting a drink of clean water that I had been dying for in a terrible drought. Just kissing him had reminded me of how _right_ this all felt.

"Ouch."

Kenny pulled away, recoiling from our kiss as he touched his broken nose with those long slender fingers of his. I couldn't help myself, I burst into laughter. With more care, I gave him a fleetingly chaste kiss, my toes curling with gentle delight.

"I'll see you around, dude," I chuckled as I picked up my boxing bag and headed out toward Clyde's car.

"Love 'ya," he called after me, "and you seriously won't regret this, Craig Fucker – I mean it!"

I flipped Kenny McCormick the bird, not daring to glance back.

My name is Craig _Tucker_ and while I may still not be too fond of girls, at least I have one sexy blonde who's a dynamo in the sack.

* * *

I checked my watch again, frowning. Craig was already twenty minutes late. With a loud sigh, I laid back into the bed of my truck, letting my shins dangle off of the back end carelessly. Ever since Token's party, Craig had been acting different and the good kind of way too. He joined the boxing team and seemed happier than I'd seen him in weeks.

However, the same could not be said for me.

"Hey, this spot taken?"

I propped myself up by my elbows to see Bebe standing there, still looking sexy in a gray turtle neck and aged jeans. Every single time, she had that amazing ability to stun me with her radiant beauty and secretly shy smile. For a moment, I openly gapped at her until she arched her golden eyebrows back at me.

"U-um, yeah – well no, I-I…," my brain was short circuiting as I fumbled desperately for words. My chest tightened painfully; I hadn't spoken to Bebe since Token's party when I finally confronter her about being with Kenny. Giving up on saying anything clearly, I scooted over and patted the black plastic of the truck in what I hoped to be an inviting manner. Sure enough, Bebe lifted herself upwards onto the bed and sat adjacent to me, her back leaned up against the rear window.

"It's been awhile, Clyde," the blonde girl observed quietly, pulling her knees up to her chest protectively.

Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I gave a deft nod. That it had, but what was I supposed to tell her? I mean, we were broken up, weren't we? Just as I opened my mouth (probably to blurt out something stupid) Bebe cut me off.

"Look, I know what you're going to say, about us being over, but I don't want that, I never wanted that," she whispered. I glanced back at her, meeting those warm brown pools of determination.

"Then why did you cheat on me with Kenny?" I demanded, feeling suddenly mad. Tears pricked the back of my eyes and threatened to spill over, to which I angrily wiped them away with the back of my hand. I could not start crying, not now of all times.

"Because you cheated on me with Tiffany!" Bebe cried, whacking me on the arm.

"No I didn't – wait, who?"

"That girl who sits behind you in chemistry…the one with the totally fake highlights?"

"Oh, well only because you were all over that one soccer dweeb, Chris!"

"I was only doing that because I heard that you were trying to get at that one slut Tammy," Bebe shook her head, her blonde curls bobbing back and forth.

"Well, yeah, but 'cause you were cheating on me with the linebacker, Daniel."

"No, I cheated on you with Daniel after you were getting at that one foreign girl, you know, the one from like Norway?"

Bebe and I stared back at one another for a moment.

Suddenly, we burst out into laughter, all of the anger and hurt quickly dissipating from the air. We both laughed until we were left gasping for breath, Bebe clutching her sides and me wrapping an arm around her shoulders to keep myself up right. My face muscles ached from smiling too widely while I tried – and failed – to halt my choking giggles.

"God! We sound like a bad soap opera," I groaned and stared helplessly back up at the clouded sky overhead. Bebe cuddled up closer against me, putting her head down upon my chest in almost an affectionate gesture.

"What are we going to do…?" she trailed off. For a long moment, we stayed like that, huddled together in the backspace of my truck, our legs tangled together and breathing in unison. I had no answers for her and no way to fix this situation.

"At least we aren't like Stan and Wendy," I shrugged.

"That's not funny," Bebe chuckled, "but seriously, what do you want to do about this? I mean, we could just call it quits, if that's what you really want."

I frowned, "No, but then again, what can we do to break this? It's not like we could just try and work on this – we've tried that and little good it did us. But then, how can we keep this vicious cycle up?"

Bebe sighed again; I could feel the muscles of her back relax against my chest. Suddenly, she turned to face me, eyes bright with a newfound idea. I loved it when she had that look on her face.

"Then promise to marry me when high school's over. No matter what," she grinned back at me, extending her pinky outwards. Without a second thought, I linked mine with hers.

"I promise."

A new wave of tears began to spill over, dripping down my cheeks, but this time, I didn't bother to wipe them away. Bebe smiled, the action reaching her eyes until those adorable little crinkles that edged her cheeks infringed upon her nose, making her face scrunch up in the most adorable way. She as well began to cry, all the while, brushing off my tears with her petite hands.

"I love, Clyde," she breathed, pressing her forehead firmly against my own as she locked eyes with me.

"I love you, too."

My name is Clyde Donavan and crying is okay, so long as I have the people I love to wipe my tears away.

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**Author's After Thoughts: Alrighty, so that concludes the final chapter of _Boundaries_. **

**...**

**Okay, well I didn't want to say this but I figure it can't really do any harm. Well, I'm planning on puting out a teeny tiny epilogue sometime over the next week or maybe even this weekend. It won't be too long, kind of like this chapter, and might help wrap up the plot just a wee bit more. I know I know, this already felt like the epi, and you all are probably sick and tired of this fic, but if for myself alone, I'm going to make an epilogue. Alright, thanks again!**


	15. Epilogue

**Author's Note: Yup, it was a long Hiatus, but I'm back bitches. This is the epilogue I promised all of you, so I hope you enjoy it. I already finished all of my thanks and other cheesy stuff so let's get right to the story, shall we? **

**Oh, but I wanted to say this one last time I guess, thanks for reading this story and I hope you all have enjoyed it as much as I have writing it ^_^ R &R!**

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Epilogue: No Boundaries

I straightened my tie in the mirror again for what seemed to be the millionth time. With an audible sigh of frustration, Cartman turned me away from my reflection, undoing all of his work with one swift tug before setting back into retying it.

"Stop tugging on it, damn it, because this is the last time I'm going to fix it for you," he grunted. Even standing this close to him made my pulse quicken and my temperature climb steadily. It was funny how much I'd fallen for someone I so often claimed to despise. With our close proximity, I studied my boyfriend – the word still made me cringe inwardly – with his intense chocolate eyes and sharp angles of his tux. Plainly said, he looked handsome.

"You think they'll be happy?" I asked softly, my hands coming to rest upon his.

Still not glancing up at me, Cartman said, "Yeah, I do. I'm just surprised he picked us to stand up there at the altar with him."

"We have been his friends for quite a few years now," I pointed out. Cartman let my silk tie slip between his fingers as he abandoned it instead to fix my hair, or maybe just mess it up, I could never tell with that asshole. I felt a sudden surge of love in my chest as I leaned up to quickly press a chaste kiss on his cheek, meeting that mildly confused, mildly amused, gaze.

"Jew, I-,"

"Hey lovebirds, hope we aren't interrupting," Kenny said loudly, rounding the corner to our little alcove in back area of the church, Stan in tow. Both of my friends were wearing matching tuxes as mine and Cartman's, and looking equally good in them. Kenny clasped onto Cartman's forearm in a friendly gesture before reaching over to slug me in the arm.

"You wouldn't believe how crazy girls get, even when it isn't even their own wedding," Stan shook his head as he tucked his hands away into his pockets. "I am not looking forward to going through with this when it's me and Wends' turn."

"Oh, don't be such a fag," Cartman teased, Kenny quickly joining in to help. I held back for a moment, just taking in the very familiar scene of my best friends palling around. It'd been nearly a month since we'd graduated high school, all of us being considerably busy as we made preparations for college. We planned on rooming together in a small apartment next to theSouthParkCommunity collegecampus, all of us having to bust our asses to get enough money for a lease, but it'd be worth it.

"Alright fuck-tards," Craig called out as he approached. Almost instantly Kenny was trying to grab him into a headlock, but the shorter man avoided him with ease, placing a well-aimed kick to Kenny square in the gonads, "the wedding's about to start and Bebe wanted to make sure that you guys aren't murdering each other yet, so get your asses out there."

I moved to help a writhing Kenny up off of the marble floor when I suddenly felt Cartman latch onto my arm as he steered me away, slowly settling for just grasping onto my hand tightly. Before we made too far down the hall, Stan caught up to us, hauling Kenny along with him. When we reached the altar, I was met with an amazing sight.

The small church had been done up with large bouquets of yellow roses and some sort of native blue flower, the pews filled with nearly the entire town of South Park, Bebe and Clyde's family seated closest to the front with varying family members and fellow teens occupying the rest. Beside Cartman was Craig, standing in as the best man, followed by Tweek, who was looking more at ease than I'd seen him in a long time. Nearby, Token was getting photos of many of the guests but letting his lens linger on the bridesmaids, particularly Red.

There were fewer girls than us, being only Wendy, Red, and Butters, as Majorine of course, all wearing hideous dresses with a blue bodice and a prom-like skirt that was a bright satin yellow.

"AndClydebet that Butters wouldn't be a bridesmaid," Cartman whispered to me, arching an eyebrow curiously at me. I sniggered, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. The small blonde boy did look pretty ridiculous, but was smiling brightly enough to rival even the sun. That was Butters for you, a grinning idiot.

"Speak of the devil," I whispered back just as Clydeentered from the back to take his place beside Craig. The brunette looked nervous, his eyes even looking a bit puffy as if he'd been crying. _Typical._

"Hey, asswipe, you owe us twenty bucks," Kenny hissed, leaning out from behind Stan to get the groom's attention. Craig intercepted his lover, giving him a look which forced Kenny back to stand obediently in line as we all waiting patiently for the ceremony to start.

Music filled the church as the doors were thrown open to reveal the bride, standing tall in a stunning white gown. Bebe looked beautiful, her hair done up in a loose bun and wearing only a small amount of light makeup. The gown hugged her curves yet came out in elegant ruffles at her mid-thighs, making her look like some ethereal mermaid. Her dad walked her down the isle, but I glanced over to seeClyde's face lit up like a Christmas tree. Tears are gathering at the edges of his eyes and I swear he sniffled once or twice.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…," Priest Maxi began slowly, smiling back and forth between the grinning couple.

Suddenly, I felt fingers being laced with my own and glanced down to see Stan gripping onto my hand tightly. When I met his baby blue eyes, I felt my heart freeze in my chest. On the other side of him, I saw that he was also holding onto Kenny's hand as well, running his thumb in small circles across the top the blonde's hand.

Deftly, I reached out to latch onto Cartman, ignoring the mildly confused stares at the wedding-goers who noticed this small bro-mance fest.

"…You may kiss the bride."

I could barely see Bebe through my own haze of welling up tears as she dives in to claim her husband's mouth. The little church exploded into applause and cheers as the newly weds, hand-in-hand, made their way out of the church, all the while, patrons tossing fistfuls rice into the air.

When at last the church had almost been cleared, I pulled away from my friends to momentarily wipe away the moisture threatening to still over.

"Kyle…," Stan placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I-I'm alright," I said thickly, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. I turned to face them, a smile splitting my face in half, "It's just that I'm really happy."

Kenny roughly dropped his hand down upon my head, mumbling something about me being an idiot before yanking me into a giant bear hug, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

"Group hug!" Stan exclaimed, jumping on both of us only to wrap his arms around mine and Kenny's neck. Lastly, Cartman grabs all of us, as if trying to gather us all up in one bundle. For a moment, we stay like that, just the four of us, smiling and tearing-up.

"Love you guys," Kenny mumbled against my hair. Cartman just sort of grunts in response and I knew that that was about the closest thing to a confession of his undying love I'd ever get, but I didn't mind. I don't think I ever would. I opened my mouth to say the same back when suddenly-

"And you fellas say I'm a f-fag."

We all jumped apart, looking over to see none other than Butters standing there, in all his silk dress glory, smirking back at us, though looking as if he wanted to apologize. I couldn't help but give him one of my signature glares while beside me, Cartman's grin twisted into something sinister.

Butters blinked those big doe eyes back at us before bolting out of the church, forced to hold onto the pleats of the skirt while he fled. Kenny and Stan instantly took off after his, Cartman right behind them.

"Jew, you coming?" he called over his shoulder, only slowing slightly in his jog to cast me an expectant stare. "We're gonna hang Butters from the cross by his panties."

"Hell yeah, wait for me!" I dashed after them, out into the bright world waiting for me and past the boundaries that kept me still.

* * *

**Author's Final Note: And that's all folks. I hope you all have enjoyed this last and final chapter of Boundaries.**


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